


Winter is Coming

by Steampunk_Seahorse



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, Arranged Marriage, Completed, Dog - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forced Marriage, House Clegane - Freeform, House Stark, Morning Sex, POV Jaime Lannister, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, SANSAN /sansan, Sandor is an angry cinnamon roll, Stranger - Freeform, battle camp, dick choking, direwolf, greywind - Freeform, little bird, the hound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-10-01 23:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17253146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steampunk_Seahorse/pseuds/Steampunk_Seahorse
Summary: Hi Lovelies I know I haven't finished my Zutara but this story would not leave me alone. I present my first work on SANSAN. Sansa has been aged up a bit to around 18/19 years.





	1. CHAPTER 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Lovelies I know I haven't finished my Zutara but this story would not leave me alone. I present my first work on SANSAN. Sansa has been aged up a bit to around 18/19 years.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor are caught WAY off guard.

Sansa stood on the balcony of the courtroom as Joffrey made his ruling. “Mother says I can’t marry a traitor's Daughter.” Raucous applause filled the room and several faces turned toward her. “The Tyrells ..” She didn’t hear anything after that. Fear and joy clashed within her. She was free of the tyrant of a fiance, but now her station was uncertain. What would happen to her? Would they marry her off? Kill her?

Her position of safety was gone in a flash. Margaery Tyrell stealing it away. But Sansa could not bring herself to be angry with the woman, she was just doing what she knew would secure her family. She glanced down at the girl who had sent her a pleading look, then to the queen who had given her a smug one. She knew Cersei had hated her for the simple fact that she was her father's daughter. For the fact that she was a Stark. She wished in that moment she could be with Arya, while she and her sister shared no interests or hobby she would dearly love to be with her family. She would have hugged and kissed her and maybe even picked up a dirty stick to play swords with her.

She stepped away from the railing and kept her head down to hide her smile, it was all she could do not to run for joy. It would be easier to escape to her family now. Once she reached her room she bolted it. Then danced, letting out a little whoop of joy not caring if a passing maid or guard was walking by. She danced in a little circle, throwing her arms up in the air. She kicked off her shoes off and jumped on her bed. Her Septa would have chastised her but she didn't care. She was free of that monster and his cruelty. She wouldn't have to bear his children or have is wormy lips pressed on her anymore. The coverlet pooled around her ankles every time she jumped She could not suppress the giggle that erupted from her. She decided that she would need to get to her brother, the king in the North. She jumped down thinking it would be best to pack a bag now and escape in a few days. Everyone would attribute it to the king breaking his betrothal. Her poor heartbroken. She would use that to her advantage.

She didn't have to cower anymore. Sansa decided as she threw plain clothes in a bag and some jewelry. She would sell it for more money along the way home. With her bag packed and safely stowed in a hiding place she lay on her bed and fell asleep with a smile on her face. She would finally let her be the wolf her father always wanted her to be. The wolf that Joffrey had killed years ago.

A WEEK LATER

Sansa sat still in her dressing chair as her maid fussed about her hair Sansa fussed with a rough piece of white linen. Small splotches of blood-stained it, her blood. She had no friends in Kings Landing except two. Today was the day she intended to leave, much to her annoyance the King had not left her alone. He had not abandoned her to play with his new Bride. She and Margaery had become fast friends the day after Joffrey's betrothal to her. Margaery was a sweet girl, full of life and vivacious. Sansa knew the King would not dare to break her the way he had tried to do so with herself. She had played the pitiful girl to ease the abuse and make herself look as less of a threat as possible. Sansa decided she would always be friends with the future queen. “Jenna,” The wide-eyed girl snapped her eyes to meet Sansa’s in the mirror. “M’Lady?”

“Style it in the Northern way.”

“But my Lady, it is so hot?”

“Winter is coming.” She smiled knowing her house words would send the maid straight to her master. She didn't know who her maid belonged to. She didn't care. Direwolves ate Stags. “And I want the silver silk gown.” She said. She would make her last day her as a wolf, not a lion.

****  
When Sansa walked into court the King fell silent, his eyes boring into her. “Lady Sansa.” he beckoned her with his hand his smile faltering only a little. She strode toward him, her head held high. When she reached him she gave a pretty curtsy. Joffrey sneered and her display, “I wanted to make sure you are feeling fine today.” She raised a red eyebrow, “Considering last week’s … news.”

“I am very happy that your grace has found your hearts path, even if it does not end with me. One of us deserves some happiness in life.” the words come gracefully from her mouth, she was surprised as was the queen. “Lady Margaery and I have become fast friends.” She gestured toward the beautiful brunette standing next to her betrothed.

“Pretty words.” The Blonde Queen said. “Easy to say in front of court.”

The King continued ignoring his mother’s attempt at a barb, leaning back on to his unearned throne. “Ser Meryn. “ The King’s favorite lackey, “How do you bring your bitches to heel?” He had understood her veiled insult.

“Breed them.” Ser Meryn answered with a sneer. “The bigger the sire the less she’ll fight.” Joffrey smiled, a sure sign he was up to something that Sansa would have to disentangle.

Sansa glared at Ser Meryn who had beat her countless times, “I didn’t realize the kingsguard had so much knowledge and time dedicated to breeding bitches.” She said calmly. “Please tell me.” Snickers sounded behind her, knowing Ser Meryn’s inability to keep to his vow of celibacy.

Ser Meryn made to step forward toward her, but another man put his hand out stopping the man. He didn’t say anything but he did not need to for Sansa to know who he was. The Hound glared at Ser Meryn daring him to come any closer to her without the King's command. The Hound had always done everything he could to protect her. Even stopping her from killing the King once. She had always wondered why he stuck up for her.

“She’s right,” Joffrey said suddenly taking everyone in the room surprise, an evil grin played about his mouth and Sansa wondered what the brat was thinking about. “Dog, your Grandfather was house Lannisters, Kennel Master. What would you do?’

“Kill it or breed it out.” He said simply, not wanting to give fuel to the Kings fire but not willing to lie.

“Hmm…” Joffrey tapped his fingers on the arm of the iron throne. “I can’t kill you, that would upset my mother and my bride had another suggestion.”

“I am thrilled to hear it, your grace.” She gave him her biggest false smile, Joffrey squirmed under it. Let him be uncomfortable, she thought. “I would be honored that you give me so much attention.” She ignored the titters behind her and stood with her back strait. Joffrey frowned not knowing what to do with this new Sansa, she was shiny and not at all the creature he had beaten into submission.

“I have decided on your future husband, one befitting your station.” Sansa looked around for someone of noble rank and of equal housing status. There was no one except the Lannisters that could give her his cloak, she would have to give him hers.

“Is he here your grace? I do not see anyone who could give me a cloak. Other than yourself of course.” She demurred.

“Oh, you needn’t look far Sansa.” He stood up and walked down to the final step on the dais. “Dog.” The Hound turned and looked at his small charge. He waved his hand toward Sansa.

“Your Grace?” His deep voice rumbled.

“Oh go on stand next to her, it will look very awkward if you don’t.” The King made a shooing motion with his hands.

Cersei leaned forward on her chair, “Your Grace if you could…” She clearly did not know what her son had in mind for Sansa’s betrothed.

“Go on Dog,” The Hound stepped down and went to stand by Sansa’s side.

“To be her guard while her husband arrives?” The Queen asked.

Joffrey let out a sob of laughter and the rest of the court ensued. He walked to the side of the room where the Grand Maester was shuffling toward the young King. “No, my Dog is not to guard her.”

“Your Grace…” The Queen continued fear now lacing the words she clutched the arms of her simple iron wrought chair.

“You gave her your cloak once, don't you remember?”

“Aye…” He answered still leery of what the Kings plan and embarrassed of the King placing him at the center of attention.

Sansa cleared her throat and looked up at The Hound. He’d rescued her several times, even if it was unknowingly. The one memory of her being chased down an alleyway by rapists flashed through her mind. He had carried her back to safety then she remembered the way his armor had dug into her soft belly and the smell of blood and leather seemed almost as much as a part of him as his face. She remembered when he’s given her his white cloak to hide her nudity and the beatings from Ser Meryn, he had gently laid the fabric about her shoulders. She still had the cloak, it was one of the few possessions she was leaving with tonight.

“This.” He held up the scroll he had retrieved from the Grand Maester, “Is a writ from all my counselors and of course myself. We had decided, Sansa, that you will marry my Dog.” There was a collective gasp from the lords and ladies in the courtroom. “A canine pairing.” He said amused with himself. She heard the Hound suck in his breath and nearly forget to breathe. Sansa’s mouth hung open in disbelief.

Sansa’s mind was whirling she could not become a Clegane. She had to hold the Stark line. If her brother Robb was killed in battle then… her father's words came back to her and Margaery Tyrell spoke them aloud, “Your Grace?” He turned to look at her beautiful face, “Mustn’t there always be a Stark in the North? She is the only Stark that has not committed treason.”

“Ahh My Beloved points out a wonderful point but it is moot. Sansa is a higher house than Clegane and thus he will become a Stark. A Stark who I will be sure of his loyalty to the crown. Since Ser Gregor is a kingsguard now I have decided to dissolve your house and give you the Stark name.”

Sansa, unable to stop herself spoke out, “How could you do this? My line is over eight thousand years old. One of the oldest in these Seven Kingdoms. You cannot simply dissolve one house and give it to another.”

“Did you just say that I cannot?” Joffrey used his old fear tactics on her.

Sansa narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth, “Yes I did. You cannot give my house to another simply because you desire. A true Stark must always be in the North.”

“I agree.” he clapped his hands and a litany of clerks come forward, “Sansa your dedication to your family line is ...strange, considering it is littered with traitors.”

“I should like to prove there are loyalist to the crown, Your Grace, starting with myself.” She lied automatically when had lying become so easy for her?

“Good, then you won't mind this simple name change.”

“The North will not accept a man simply because of a name change.” She countered dangerously.

“He will be accepted, he will be married to you!” His face was red and his eyes bulging. “Do not dare tell me what I can and cannot do Stark.” It was a command and despite Sansa’s new winning attitude, Joffrey was still King.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Her voice as ice cold as her beloved North. “Forgive me, it is just so soon to be betrothed to another after you have broken my heart.” This seemed to appease the King.

She thought she heard The Hound snort, but she could not be sure under all the sound in the hall. She could see the panic in Cersei's eyes as they flitted to the Spider and to Littlefinger both of whom looked amused.  
  
Changing his name was easier than Sansa thought it would be. Since he was King and a ruling descendant of House Lannister he had the authority to dissolve the Clegane house name and assign it to another.

The court was buzzing by the time that Joffrey was done making the proclamation that the wedding would take place in a week as he had been assured this would be the proper time. Tyrion, who Sansa had quite ignored until now spoke up, but it was only to discuss further war planning with the king to defeat her brother.

Sansa bobbed a curtsy and started to walk to the side knowing the show was done. The Hound stood in place. She walked back three steps and gently grasped his armored forearm and pulled him gently. He seemed to stay in his reverie and followed her to the side of the room and hidden behind courtiers. She made sure to stay in the line of the King. She knew he wanted her to suffer, knew he wanted to see it.

“My Lord?”

“Not no fuckin lord.” He snapped at her and she winced.

“You are going to be.” She said simply. The Hound fumbled around for his wineskin and took a deep draft of the sour red before looking at her again, his shoulders slumped and he handed her the pouch. Sansa took it and sipped from it.

“I...I don't even know your name.”

“Sandor Clegane…. Stark.”

“Dog!” Joffrey screamed for his favorite pet and Sandor looked up, “I still have your service for a week.” Sandor grunted and took back his wineskin back from her small hands.

  
*****

Sandor resumed his spot in front of the king, where he could see all the sympathetic glances everyone was throwing at Lady Sansa’s way. He knew he was an old ugly dog, he had thought her nothing but a pretty bird. One he would like to pin against a mattress and make scream with his cock, but still a pretty bird nonetheless. Sandor had never pictured himself with a wife, let alone a Lady. What had gotten into her today, she was playing a dangerous game with the King. One he couldn’t save her from if the idiot boy King was able to discern her compliments were really insults. He had felt her anger rolling off her in waves as he had stood next to her, Sandor wasn’t a fool he knew she didn’t want to marry him. No one ever would. Why would the King pair them together? Surely the King knew he would take the Little Bird back up to Winterfell.

He knew the King had some other motive behind her humiliation, or maybe not. Maybe the King simply wanted the beautiful girl to be with someone as ugly as him. Hell, maybe the King thought he still had a hold over the Winterfell. No one but a Northerner could hold Winterfell, no one else would be respected. How could he run something that large, he hadn’t even been looked at twice to run Clegane Keep. Then not to mention there was Robb, her brother would be pissed and Sandor couldn’t blame him. What would happen when the King in the south proclaimed one Lord and the King in the North was by right the same lord. Had Joffrey even thought about it. Did Joffrey care, Sansa had more brothers, ones that were not officially labeled traitors to the crown yet. Despite what his cock thought Sandor knew better than to hope for a smooth transition. He knew the king would demand he plant a babe in her as soon as possible to ensure loyalty.

When court was dismissed, Tyrion called him over and he reluctantly went to his side. “How did you manage that?”

“What?” He said gruffly.  
  
“That Marriage is more advantageous to you than it is to her.” The Imp pointed out, “What did you do for the King to allow such a thing.”

“I didn’t, half man.” She still sang of beautiful knights and dashing heroes. He was none of these. “Why the fuck I want to marry the Little Bird?”

Tyrion looked at him as if where daft, “Joffrey doesn’t do anything without anyone suffering.” The imp said as Lady Sansa approached them. He looked his fill at his future wife. She was a long way from when she came to Kings Landing 5 years ago. Her hips and flared and her waist nipped in. Her beautiful red hair had darkened and hung to her waist. The locks were done simply, two simple braids formed at her temples forcing her hair to stay out of her face.

“My Lords” She bobbed another curtsy and looked to him. If she had heard the Imps question she gave no indication that she had.

“Lady Sansa, I wonder if I could ask you a question?”

“Yes, Lord Tyrion.” She clasped her hands in front of her stomach and Sandor wondered again how fast Joffrey would want pups from him. He wondered if he could hold it off until she would want to come to him, if ever.

“What does the North depend on most in Winter?”

Sansa’s eyes flickered to Sandor, “Fire.”

“Ah, that would be why.” He looked up at Sandor. “I could speak with the King, get him to change his mind for you Sansa.”

Sandor nodded, understanding, “Wait.” She said, surprising both men. Sandor’s shrewd gray eyes snapped to her. “My Lord Tyrion….” She tried. Sansa wanted to go home and she would take any avenue presented to her. “Don’t bother the King with this. If this is his decree then we should honor it.”

Tyrion openly gaped at her, “Lady Sansa?”

“Sandor has been very kind to me. He has saved my life countless times.” That was the truth, she had no idea why he would do such a thing if he was loyal to the Lannisters but he had.

“That's not enough to make a marriage.”

“Marriages have been built on less and worse.” She countered. Why was she fighting for this, Sandor thought. “If you excuse us I need my fiance for a few minutes.”

Tyrion sketched a bow and went the visibly furious Queen. “Why?” Sandor asked.

“Why what?”  
  
“Don’t be stupid Girl, why did you stop him from speaking with the King? And no singing those insipid songs your Septa taught you.” Sandor asked anger in his voice.

Sansa nibbled her lower lip. Should she tell him the truth? He had been her only friend here since her father's death and Margaery's arrival. Would he believe her? No, she decided he wouldn’t he thought everyone used him. She would use that avenue. “Why would I not? You are my avenue home and I am your avenue away from Joffrey. This is a good thing.” Sandor was not convinced, still, he flinched inwardly. She was only using him as a way home.

“Besides,” She continued, “You are the only thing that stands between me and my ‘beloved’ king.” Sandor glared at her for repeating what he had said her years ago after she had tried to thank him for saving her. He opened his mouth to snarl something at her when he was called by the King.

“Come dog!” Joffrey screeched and Sandor pulled a face, Sansa tried to hide her smile and failed. A true smile light her face and eyes, he expected to see relief in her eyes in spite of his anger he burned the image in his head he knew it would be one of the last times he saw it directed at him and his ugly half burnt face. He reached out to tug a curl that had slipped onto her shoulder, his armor clinking slightly, he stopped himself and turned toward the King and left her without another word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters belong to the wonderful George R.R. Martin


	2. CHAPTER 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Margaery and Sansa get real about the Hound and Sansa's engagement. The Hound is otherwise occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super early fluff

Sansa was sitting alone when Margaery found her in the Godswood. “Sansa,” Her sweet voice filled the sacred space and Sansa found that she did not mind the girl there with her at all. “There you are.” She waved her hand the two guards that had been standing ten feet away from her left.  Joffrey had spoiled her plans for running when he had placed to guards with her, preventing her from even going to her room alone. The men stood guard over her at all times. Joffrey had enough brains to think she might have run, or worse.

 

Sansa smiled, “Margaery, please join me.” She did smoothing out her beautiful blue gown.

 

“Please tell me you are okay? Engagement to the Hound, I honestly didn't think that the King would move that fast.”

 

“I am fine, though thank you for asking. Do you know what gave the King this idea? I didn’t think he would ever leave Sandor's cloak.” She had been contemplating Sandor since the court had been dismissed earlier that day, she supposed the unburned side of his face was not all that bad, add to that he was the only man it seemed in Kings Landing taller than her. Not to mention his body, she was sure under that armor he had broad shoulders, something all Northern girls were attracted too.  

 

“Well,” Margaery leaned back and clasped her hands, “I am afraid that is my fault.”

 

“Yours?” Sansa was confused, how could Margaery force the King to do this?

 

“Yes, do you remember when you were sitting with the other girls, we were practicing our embroidery in the garden and they all started to make fun of the Hound?” Sansa didn’t but nodded anyway, “You told us the story of how he killed those three men to save you in that alleyway and that he was a better knight than Ser Meryn.”

 

“Oh yes,” She remembered now. “I still was bruised from Ser Meryn’s ...actions. Poor Teressa, I thought she would fall over with embarrassment.”  Sansa had glared at the girl until she refused to look at her, even to this day Teressa kept her head down when Sansa walked passed her in the halls.

 

“Exactly, so when you were summoned, the girls talked about you and The Hound.”

 

“His name is Sandor.” She said suddenly, not sure why she felt the need to correct her friend.

 

Margaery looked surprised and recovered quickly. “Yes, well, she said something along the lines of you actually liking him. And wouldn't it just be so funny if you actually married him? Sansa, I am so sorry when Joffrey asked me who I thought you should marry. I jokingly said the Hound. And he laughed. I knew he liked the idea of it but I did not think that I would go through with it.”  Sansa gave her a small smile, and Margaery continued, “I only wanted to make him stop tormenting you.” Sansa knew her friend was being honest with her, she gained nothing by lying to her.

 

Sansa reached into a hidden pocket of her skirt and produced a small piece of plain white linen. Margaery glanced at it. “What is that?” unable to hide the disdain in her voice. Margaery never had anything so plain or a rough as the square in her hands. 

 

Sansa took her time, recollecting the events of three years ago before starting; “When my Father was executed; our beloved King Joffrey took me to him not all of him. Just his head on a spike, rotting in the southern sun. He made me look at my father. I can remember thinking to myself that it was not him. It could not be, it was only flesh my father had gone to the Stranger a soldier of honor and I refused to remember him that way.  I remember he said that on our wedding day he would give me my brothers head on a platter. Before I could stop myself I told him my brother could give me his.” Margaery’s eyes widened Sansa fidgeted with the square aware of her treasons statement. “He ordered Ser Meryn to hit me; He did, slapping me across the face, splitting my lip. Joffrey said something, I don't remember now but it was enough for me to want to hit him at the least. I took a step forward and Sandor grabbed my shoulder, he took out this linen and wiped away the blood. For such a big man he was so gentle. He told me to keep it.” She looked up at Margaery who was smiling patiently pain filled her eyes. Margaery as a kind soul, but one who knew how to wrap the king around her finger. “Thank you, Margaery, for telling me and please,” She grasped the other girl's hands, “Do not let him change his mind.” Sansa was surprised to find that her cheeks were still dry. It had been three years since she had lost her father but the wound cut deep. Another betrayal by the King. She wished to be by her brother's side and wondered if Sandor would want to be by Robb's. She wondered how loyal he was to the Lannisters she wondered if she was more like Margaery if he would fall in love with her.

 

“He won’t.” She promised. Their conversation continued on to Margaery’s upcoming wedding and who would be invited. Sansa enjoyed listening to Margaery talk and how excited the girl was, “Oh Sansa we should be talking about your wedding. You are getting married in seven days! What do you want for the ceremony? Tell me all about it!” Margaery had a way of bringing out the excitement in people and letting them forget for even a moment that they were in uncomfortable situations. Sansa told her quietly she didn’t want to get married in the Sept, she wanted to get married in the Godswoods; it was the most beautiful spot in King's Landing. The green in the trees let her go home even if only for a few hours. The weir wood tree had it’s bleeding face and Sansa felt comfortable in it. She almost felt that it was connected to the one in Winterfell. She had always kept the silly notion to herself, no one would think her a woman grown if she told them she still believed the North's Fairy Tales.

 

“Here? I suppose….it’s not traditional.”

 

The wind rustled the leaves above her, she watched as a leaf that had turned orange fell from the tree and slowly rode the wind current to her lap. She picked it up and handed it to the other girl; “Winter is Coming Margaery, and wolves need to be in the North. This is as close as I can get to that right now.”

 

“I will tell the king to hold the wedding here then.”

 

A silence fell over both young women. As they enjoyed the last rays of the sun through the trees, Sansa wondered what life with Sandor would be like. He was a hard man, he told her as much when he declared killing gives him joy. She wondered what it would be like to kiss his lips. Half twisted from his burn and half what she imagined would be firm and hard. She wondered if she could ever love him or if he would love her truly. She had always wanted a marriage like her parents, loving and content with many children. She didn’t know if that was what Sandor wanted, didn’t know if he wanted or even liked children. She supposed it didn’t matter now.  

 

****

FIVE DAYS LATER

 

Sandor stood outside of the room as the king was rutting on some poor whore. It had not slipped his notice that the whore was redheaded, all of Joffrey’s whores were. Sandor rolled his eyes at the woman's obviously fake cries of pleasure but at least guard duty allowed him to think about Sansa. He had always watched her from a distance always slipping in a sentence to alleviate some of the abuse that the King thought she had deserved. He had watched her in five years turn from gangly girl to curvacious woman, he would be lying to himself if she wasn’t the object of at least one (most) of his fantasies. He remembered looking at her for the first time in Winterfell, she was a child and Sandor had dismissed her. But when she had gotten her blood his feelings had become _complicated_.

 

He had watched her as she pulled a shell over herself to protect her emotions and her core from the abuse. When she had walked into court five days past with her hair down and in her silver gown Sandor knew something inside the girl had broken free. She wasn’t a Little Bird any more but well on her way to being the direwolf of her name. She no longer had a reason to be afraid of Joffrey, or so she thought. The king could still rape her and Sandor would be powerless against it unless he wanted his head chopped off as well as hers.

 

When she had railed against him in court he thought that Joffrey would try to make him beat her to make her obedient. He instinctively knew that wouldn’t work, it would only make her hate him and their forced marriage that much worse. Sansa Stark may have been an object of hate in court because of her father but he figured with the right teachers she would be more dangerous even than Littlefinger.

 

Sandor looked up as he heard the soft clicking of heels on the slate stone of the castle floor he looked up and saw the Queen stalking toward him with a militant look on her face. When she stopped in front of him she spoke crisply, “Step aside I need to see my son.” The whores wail emanated from the room behind him.

 

“He’s a bit busy your grace.” The queen paled then remembered herself.

 

“Step aside.”

 

“His grace is not to be disturbed,” Sandor said again.

 

“Move or I will have that ugly face of yours ripped from your skull.” She seethed. Sandor knew she had the power to do it too. “Or burn the rest of it.”

 

_“Yer loss.”_ He thought. He stepped aside and let the queen enter Joffrey’s room. He heard the subsequent squeak of the whore and the strangled voice of Joffrey, “Mother!” The door opened and a woman clutched her clothes to her chest. She looked up at him and screamed. Sandor snarled at her actually showing teeth. She ran. He resumed his post in front of the door.

 

“Get out!”

 

“Joffrey, what have you done marrying the Stark girl to your Dog!?”

 

“A king does as he likes!”

 

“You realize he will take her to Winterfell! You know she has the power to add more northerners to her brother's army!” The Queen screeched, “She will gain power! That power will be Robb’s!”

 

“What do you think The Hound is for!” He yelled back. “He is loyal to me.” He sounded petulant.

 

“You turned a dog into a wolf and think he will stay by the Lio..Stags side?! You idiot child! Direwolves EAT stags.”

 

Joffrey laughed, “Sansa is no Direwolf, she is nothing but a shell.”

 

“You didn’t see that display earlier? She was challenging everything. She is a Northerner and dangerous.”

 

“She is nothing!”

 

“She… you ...Joffrey. You treated Clegane like a Dog and now are letting him run with a wolf. She will teach him …”

 

“Teach him what? Manners? How to throw _balls_? All that Dog was ever good for was swinging his sword. He isn’t smart enough to understand the intricacies of politics.”

 

“Joffrey, you have made a powerful enemy of Sansa Stark, you allowed her to keep her name and you gave it to Clegane!”   

 

“Leave! And find that Whore! I’m not done!” He ordered her. The door opened with a jerk and Sandor stood to the side again and watched the Queen leave. She stormed down the hall, he closed the King's door and reflected on what the Queen had said. “ _You turned a dog into a wolf…_ ”  What would Lady Sansa say?

  


****

Sansa hardly saw Sandor after their engagement was announced, the only news she got was that he would be wearing his armor on the day of their wedding. Other than that small detail, Sansa and Margaery planned over the details of the wedding. Sansa was glad to have help planning the event, she had made sure it was a small affair with limited nobles invited. Today she stood in the middle of her small room filled with seamstresses who were fussing over every small detail. “Now dear.” One old woman pointed to a small stitch, “This is where the red will go.”

 

“Red?” Sansa looked down at her.

 

“Oh yes.” She beamed at Sansa.

 

“Red is not acceptable, change it to Gray.”

 

“My Lady, the King...”

 

“I am not marrying the King, I am marrying a Clegane.” She shouted. The woman eyed her, eyes wide, then they turned from fear to pity.

 

“Oh, dear...the mean one or the ugly one?” The woman spouted before she could stop herself.

 

“What is the difference?” Said another woman behind her. Sansa found herself irritated beyond belief, why would these two women say such horrible things? They had never met Sandor. She reminded herself they only knew of his reputation, not the man himself.  

 

Sansa motioned the woman behind her to face her. Both seamstresses stared at her waiting for her command. “What do you know of San...The Hound?”

 

“Only rumor,” the young woman said. “My sister works in flea bottom she says he has visited the brothel near her once and the woman he always takes needs to recover for several days. Says he nearly tears them in two with his size. Some girls say he just don’t fit.”  Sansa felt her heart speed up and heat rush to her face. Was he so large he left women in heaps after taking them to bed? She had heard from her maids that size always mattered to a woman's pleasure but she never imagined a man so large he simply would not fit.

 

Sansa flushed and cleared her throat, “Do not insult my Fiance again. Do you both understand?” She asked softly, it was not their fault she was nervous and worried about the kind of husband Sandor would be. Now she was worried if she would be able to please him enough for him to stay away from the brothels. Not that it mattered to her. Really, it didn’t.

 

“Ye...yes M’lady.” they agreed.

 

“Change the stitching the gray,” she paused, “And add small yellow flowers.” She wondered if he would like that. The woman nodded and helped her out of the ivory gown. As she slid on her favorite pink wrap dress she wondered if she should educate herself a little of what men liked in the marriage bed. She had no mother hear to teach her what was acceptable and what was not. Would Margaery know? Maybe, she had been married once.

 

Sansa stepped out of her room where the seamstresses were packing and set out to find Margaery. Instead, she found Sandor at the end of the hall.  He was looking out of the window, watching the water, “Sandor?” she called out to him as she came up to him.

 

He turned and she saw his face had been bruised and was beginning to purple, “Little Bird.” His voice was deep and raspy; Sansa shivered.

 

“What happened?” She asked as she reached him. When he didn’t answer she reached up, he jerked away. 

 

“Don’t pretend with me. What do you want?” he snarled. He could find everyone’s angle, not sure she wanted something more from him than his promise to take her home.

 

She frowned at him, used to the way he bit at her with his words, the way he tried to scare her off, in the past it would have worked too, but know they were to be married and he would simply have to get used to her. She reached up again before he could stop her, the bruise was deep and would be an angry purple on their wedding day. “What happened, Sandor?” He seemed to relax into her touch like he hadn’t known he needed it and was taking it while it lasted; he leaned into it. His whiskers scratched her hand and she found that she didn't mind she actually enjoyed the feeling of his coarse hair against her soft palm.

 

“Some poor sod congratulated me on ...our …” He gestured between them with gauntleted his hand, “Said I was getting the Kings leftovers like the Dog I am.”  

 

Sansa cringed. “Protecting my honor were you?” Sandor gave an uncomfortable grunt. “Let me give you some salve for this. It should help with the pain.”

 

“It doesn’t hurt.” He said instantly he would not allow her softness to affect him.

 

“Then it will help with the bruising.” She countered.

 

Sandor nodded and followed her back down the hall toward her chambers, as they reached the room the two seamstresses left, they gave her a smiling nod then averted their eyes not looking at him. Sandor wanted to growl at them, give them something to really be afraid of but he didn’t he didn’t want to be that way in front of Sansa. He wondered if Sansa had made the salve herself or had ordered it. He liked to think she made it, thinking that she had worked something with her hands made him proud. He didn’t understand why didn’t care to.

 

Sansa stepped into the room and opened the door wide for him. Her rooms were small not lavishly decorated as he had expected. He expected to find small female things everywhere, instead, the room was tidy and nearly baren. “Please sit on the chair.” She pointed to a small stool he gave a look that said, _“really?”_ she shrugged. Reaching into her small vanity she pulled out some salve she had made herself and turned to see him sitting uncomfortably in the stool.

 

“Why is there nothing here?” He demanded of her. Why wasn’t there small female things all over the place? Where her gowns and shoes? Where her stockings and underthings?

 

“Because you take me to Winterfell in two days. What little I have I have had packed up.”

 

“What little you have?” What did she mean, had the king not provided for her? Why did that make him so angry?

 

“Nothing really fits any longer. I came here when I was 15. I am too tall for many of my old dresses. And I will not take anything the King has given me.”

 

He shifted uncomfortably on the small stool, his armor clinking, he felt uncomfortable surrounded by small furniture. “If you think that is small, my bed is worse.” He snorted, if that was true he would break it on their wedding night simply by laying on it. The thought of her writhing beneath him sent heat straight to his cock; never in his life had he been so happy to have armor covering himself. He leaned forward trying to ease some of the pain. In all his fantasies she was always willing, always soft and always wet for him. He watched her step closer to him with the glass jar. She popped it open and a surprisingly sweet smell of honeysuckle drifted to his nose.

 

“What is that?” He asked.

 

“Something I made when Joffrey was at his worse. The Grand Maester helped me with it.” She stood between his knees and scooped a small amount on to her fingers, she was so damned small. “It may sting but it does not last long.” At his nod, she gently spread the salve over his bruise. “Did he get you anywhere else?”

 

He shook his head. “No, laid him out pretty easy.” He said he was surprised how at ease he felt with her and found himself not wanting to leave her. She smiled again. Her real smile the one that brought light to every being within the room she was present in; Sandor wanted to see it more and more.

 

“Good.” She closed the lid on her salve and went to turn and place it back where she had retrieved it from when she tripped over his booted feet. He reached out and pulled her back trying to right her. Sansa tried to compensate for the fall but Sandor pulled her back. She landed squarely in his lap. His massive arms immediately wrapped around her frame. The heat from his body radiated from under his armor and Sansa leaned into him.

 

“Are you okay?”  She felt the rumble of his voice in his chest, felt it vibrate through his armor and into her.

 

“I… think so.”  Their faces were only inches from each other. Sansa felt the hard chains under her dress and his harder thigh under that. Sansa looked up at him, she saw the lines in his face etched from years of war, pain, and suffering. She looked at his scar, it didn’t bother her it never really had; “Sometimes I am just so clumsy.”

 

“Really?” She smelled like night, like moonlight falling on fresh now. Sandor wanted to bury his hand in her red hair. He inched one hand down to the flair of her hips and watched as her breath caught. Her body was soft under his hands, this woman was made to love. He felt her hands gripping his shoulders and tugging. He wondered if she knew she was doing it. If a beautiful woman wanted to kiss him, he would not deny her. Sandor leaned in.

 

There was a knock at the door before it unceremoniously flung open. “Sansa dear, I have a list….” Margaery entered the room and her eyes landed on the spectacle that was before her. Sansa sitting on Sandor’s lap, his arms wrapped around her and only inches apart. She turned and bolted the door. “Are you insane! If Joffrey finds out that you are not pure before the wedding he will visit you.” She whispered harshly.

 

“We...I…” Sansa tried to find her voice finding it difficult to find her breath let alone a coherent thought.

 

“Lady Margaery, Lady Sansa was only giving me some salve to treat the bruise on my face.”

 

“I don’t care, next time bolt the door Sansa.” Margaery whispered again. She looked at Sandor, “You should go before anyone suspects anything.” Sandor nodded, understanding the logic of it but was still reluctant to let go of her. He unconsciously dug his fingers into her soft flesh.

 

“Sandor.” He looked at his red-headed woman she glanced down at her hip. He released her and she slid her hands down his chest and stood.

 

“Two more days.” He murmured to himself.

  


Once Sandor was out of the room, Margaery spun on her. “What are you thinking allowing him in your room before you are married?”

 

“What does it matter?”

 

“If Joffrey thinks you might be even the slightest bit happy he will take this away from you.”

 

“I was just spreading salve on his wound.” She defended.

 

“In his lap?”

 

“Well no, I tripped and he caught me.”

 

“Uggg. Sansa….” Sansa didn’t respond, she only thought of how close she had gotten to his face. She realized with a start she had wanted him to kiss her. Wanted him to sweep her off of her feet. She sank to the stool still feeling his arms around her and missing his heat. She reached up and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes wide she looked to her friend.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I think... I think I wanted him to kiss me.” She answered quietly.

 

“How could you not? Shoulders like that and, well, at least half of his face.” Margaery sucked in a breath. Sansa felt something stirring inside of her body. Something that she was sure no lady should speak about ever.

 

Margaery spoke again breaking her from the unexpected thought, “I came by to help you pack, well, help direct the servants and to give you a gift.”

 

“Oh, mostly everything is packed and in trunks. I only had two, the salve and a few other things are the last of it.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“Yes, nothing really fits anymore.” She blushed delicately.

 

“Well..then my gift will mean so much more!” She beamed all sunshine again. Margaery clapped her hands and several servants filled the room with new dresses and fur linned-cloaks. For both her and Sandor.

 

“Margaery?”

 

“Oh please don’t be mad, I wanted you to have something from me, to remember me by.” Sansa couldn’t be mad at her. She was Sansa’s best friend and she hugged Margaery tight.

 

“Thank you so much! I hadn’t even thought I had no northern clothes. You are so thoughtful.”


	3. CHAPTER 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know the cloaking ceremony is really a Sept thing but I really loved the idea of that and mixing it with the Godswood wedding ceremony. It's a mish-mash I know.

Two days had flown by with her not seeing much more than seamstresses and servants. The guards hardly left her door now, and she wondered if Margaery had placed them there to ensure Joffrey would not show up at her door. Sunlight filtered through her barren room, she stretched and sat up. It was just after dawn and Sansa knew she had at least an hour before her maid would come in to dress her and her hair. She wondered if today would be different.. if her maid would arrive earlier than usual. She slipped out of the bed and lazily padded over to the window seat and drew her knees to her chest, watching as the sun dance across the waves.

 

She didn’t know how much time had passed before her maids slipped in and laid out her wedding gown and brought her some breakfast. “Well missy, congratulations.” Her older maid smiled, tears in her eyes. “Oh, I always get teary over weddings.”

 

Sansa smiled and turned from the water, “Mrs. Leads?”

 

“Yes, dear?” She bustled about the room making the bed and pouring some water for her young charge.

 

“I know what is supposed to happen tonight, but …” She blushed, not able to finish the sentence.

 

Mrs. Leeds blinked, then broke into a wide smile as she understood. She brought the goblet of water to Sansa and sat down on the edge opposite of the young lady. “I see, well.. you know the first time will hurt?” Sansa nodded, “Most men try to be as gentle possible. It gets better after that, and if you are lucky your man will want your pleasure as much as his own.”

 

“I am not sure what to do to...please him.” She said softly.

 

“My dear, I have seven children. My advice is to enjoy yourself and explore. Tell your man what you want. Most men don’t know what they want until they have tried it.” She chuckled.

 

“Seven children…” Sansa revisited her earlier thoughts; would Sandor even want children? Would she have as many as her own mother?

 

“I’ve heard about pleasuring a man with more than my woman's place.”  Sansa felt the heat increasing on her face and chest, but Mrs. Leads sounded unphased as she spoke.

 

“Some men like it when you bring them to their peak with your mouth.”

 

“My mouth?” She sounded scandalized.

 

“Aye, your tongue can be used for more than your quick wit. It can make a warrior's knees give out.” Sansa’s mind was whirling after that statement, and she bade the woman tell her everything she could.

By the time Sansa was dressed and her hair was laced with white ribbons, she knew more about what men wanted from their wives than her mother could have ever told her. She wondered if Sandor would like it if she took him into her mouth. “Oh dear. I had best get you to the Godswood.” Mrs. Leads helped Sansa up and opened the door, to where Ser Meryn was standing there in his white armor and an amused look on his face.

 

“Looking lovely as ever, Lady Sansa.” He smiled, showing yellowing teeth. Sansa stiffened. Of course Joffrey would send her most hated knight to take her to the Godswood. There was no love lost between the two and she shivered as his eyes traveled up and down her body in obvious want. He licked his lips, “Lucky man that Dog; getting one so young and pretty as you.”

 

Sansa didn’t respond to his words, there was no polite way to step out of this situation and Ser Meryn knew it. He offered his white armored elbow and she was forced it take it. They walked to the Godswood in mostly silence. Every once in a while, Ser Meryn would try to engage her, and she would nod or give a noncommittal response, “You know Sandor is a drunk. If he passes out….well… you could always look for me.” His eyes roved over her again. “I doubt I would even let you get out of that dress.”

 

“Thank you for the compliment Ser, however from what I have heard, my husband is quite accomplished.” She lied smoothly, “But I will be sure to pass on your offer, I am sure Sandor would be **_most_ **happy to hear about it.” She smiled sweetly up and him and heard her maid chuckle behind her, Ser Meryn glowered at her. By the time they arrived, the sun had set and there was only the purple and pink haze of sunset. She knew that small lanterns would be lit.

 

“Is there anything you would like in your room this eve?” Mrs. Leeds asked.

 

Sansa thought about this request for a moment, then remembered Sandor's wineskin. “Sour Dornish Red. That’s his favorite. Three bottles.”

 

“Three is a lot.”

 

“He’s so big.” Mrs. Leeds laughed at that. Sansa gave a small smile and stood in her appointed spot, waiting for Lord Tyrell to show. He would escort her down the aisle and give her away. She watched from her concealed spot as the last of the guests trickled in, Margaery and King Joffrey among the last.

 

“Lady Sansa…” She turned to see Lord Tyrell waiting for her. Ser Meryn bowed and left, his duty done. She suspected Lord Tyrell was in his best doublet, and he had cleanly shaven and smelled like honeyed wine. He offered his arm to her and she took it. “I am so sorry you are to marry that monster.” He whispered to her.

 

“Lord Tyrell, please, this is my wedding.”

 

“Right right …. You ...er look lovely.” he patted her arm sympathetically, she looked at her simply cut ivory dress delicately embroidered with yellow flowers and silver filigree. She liked it and was glad she had chosen their house colors.

 

“Thank you, My Lord.” As they walked down the path laid out for her she noticed the King stood next to Sandor, as well as Ser Gregor. What was his brother doing here? She had _not_ wanted him here, and she was just as sure Sandor didn’t either. Sandor was dwarfed by his own brother, but he still stood rigid and ready, his eyes downcast. She was reminded of the night at the Hand’s tourney between the two; Sandor had saved Ser Loras from Ser Gregor’s wrath.

She smiled tightly and look at Sandor even though he wasn’t looking; his armor had been polished and oiled his hair washed but still covering his scar. As she got closer she noticed he had cleaned up around his beard, although it was still long by southern standards. Sansa found that she liked it.

 

Sandor kept his gaze down until he had heard someone gasp. His gray eyes had snapped up to see the Little Bird in a white gown that accentuated her hips and helped empathize her small chest. He liked the short sleeves that stopped at her mid forearm revealing dainty wrists.  Her hair was down despite the heat it was laced with white. When the fat lord reached him Sandor noticed the small smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Why had he not noticed that before?

 

Gregor took a lumbering step forward and spoke, “Who comes before the old gods this night?”

 

Lord Tyrell stuttered, “S...Sansa of House Stark comes to be wed. A woman grown and pure, true and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

 

Sandor stepped forward, “Sandor of house Clegane, now of House Stark. Who gives her?” it came out as a growl, one Sandor didn’t actually intend. Sansa’s blue eyes widened then filled with mirth, she thought he was teasing Lord Tyrell.

 

Poor Lord Tyrell, faced with the two biggest and most fearsome warriors in the seven realms lost his voice. Joffrey began to giggle. Sansa gave Lord Tyrell and nudge and an encouraging smile. “Lord of house Tyrell, Father to the future Queen of the Seven realms.”

 

Gregor’s voice sounded again, “Sansa, do you take this man?”

 

Sansa stepped forward and laced her hands with Sandor's, “I take this man.”

 

Sandor squeezed her hand; it was so small and pale against his. He rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand, trying to tell himself this was real; she was standing here in front of him with a fucking white gown on. It didn’t matter to him that Joffrey thought this a cruel joke, that the King thought Sansa would be terrified and sickened by his dog. She was soft and sweet and --

...Sandor snapped back to the ceremony before he forgot what steps he was supposed to take.  When the priest intoned it was time to for the cloaking ceremony, he turned to retrieve the cloak and realized too late that it had been made for him and not for her. He unfolded it and she turned. She pulled her hair out of the way. Sandor placed the fur lined black cloak around her shoulders. It dwarfed her and Joffrey let out another suppressed giggle. She turned and he expected her to be embarrassed, instead, she smiled. He heard people clapping and some women sobbing loudly.

 

She slid her hand into his one more time and gently tugged him toward the aisle, reminding him that the ceremony was over and she was his wife now. It wasn’t a dream or a fantasy she was his bloody wife. Sandor’s lips thinned as he all but raced down the aisle to escape the crowd. Once he was free of them he pulled them into the same isolated patch she had waited in before the ceremony. “Seven Hells.” He groaned scrubbing his hand over his face. Had he really just married the Stark Girl? She said nothing but her shoulders were now slumped under his heavy cloak.  Where the fuck was some wine when you needed it?

 

“How long is this fucking feast.” He asked her; she would know, the little bird knew everything about this social bullshit, Joffrey was right he didn’t understand anything about politics or court.  

 

“Until...until you want to bed me.” She answered looking at him through her lashes her blue eyes clear of any fear.

 

“What if I want to fuck you now?”

 

She looked taken aback by his language, but answered, “I think that would insult the King.”

 

“Fuck the King.” Sandor watched as Sansa’s face went from horror to amusement. She laughed the sound of it washing over him like cool water after a battle.

 

“ _Fuck_ the King?” The word sounded foreign coming from her rosebud lips he grunted again trying to stop from laughing with her. Her laugh was infectious and he rubbed his chest where warmth had begun to spread.“Why was your Brother there?” she asked her eyes still filled with laughter.

 

“Joff made him, only family I got. My Father and Mother are both dead and my sister.”

 

“You have … had a sister?” She asked in surprise. He nodded, “What was her name?”

 

“Nyla.” He said softly.

 

“You must tell me about her someday.”  Sandor turned his head, it had been so long since he had even thought about his baby sister and the hate that had driven him into military service.

 

“How long do we wait here?” He asked her.

 

“We can leave now if you want. We are going to the main hall.”

 

When they arrived their guests clapped and whispered behind their hands. They took their place and Sansa noticed all the candles lit on their table. Sandor took his seat and scooted back from the table. There was really no point for the candles to be on the table as the whole room was lit brightly already. She looked around and noticed that theirs was the only one with candles. She spotted Joffrey who was pointing and laughing with his mother, Sansa leaned forward and blew out the candles. The king scowled at her, angry for taking his fun away, she smiled sweetly at him; he glowered at her then.

 

Sandor scooted closer to the table and poured himself some wine. The feast went by pleasantly enough with Sansa spending most of her time speaking with Margaery and Sandor spending most of his time with wine. When Sansa got up she took the cup away from Sandor who was about to snap at her; she took a long drink and handed him the goblet back. She smirked at his surprised expression, “ _Don't get too drunk, my Lord Husband_.” she thought and stepped away needing to be away from the sound and the people for just a moment. She stepped out of the room when Joffrey with his new shadow Gregor stepped in front of her.

 

“Sansa.”

 

“Your Grace?” She didn’t courtesy.

 

“It really is a shame that your Father had the be a traitor.” He stepped forward and whispered in her ear, “We could still fuck. My dog is too drunk to know the difference. It’s not like he could do anything about it anyway.” He grabbed her wrist hard bruising her skin.

 

She wrenched it away and glared at him. What would her new husband say? Probably something filthy. Her voice was softer than a whisper but still loud enough for only him to hear, “I would rather eat a dagger than be pricked by you.” When she leaned back she smiled sweetly and him and turned to her goodbrother. “Ser Gregor.” He nodded at her and she removed herself from Joffrey's presence.

 

When she reached the table again Joffrey spoke, “Time for the bedding ceremony!”  He said with a smile. Sansa knew it was a direct retribution for her insult.

 

Sandor leaned forward, “There will be no bedding ceremony.” He growled. No one should see Sansa naked. No one.

 

The King must have not heard him. He yelled, “Take off her dress, she won't be needing it!”

 

“I do not need a fucking ceremony to fuck my wife.” Sandor roared. The room was silent, only the crackling of the fire in the great hearth sounded. He glared at the king daring him to say anything else about Sansa.

 

“We need…”

 

“You need what? Proof? I’ll gift wrap her bloody sheet in the morning and hand it to you. Hang it out her damn window. There will be no bedding ceremony.” Sansa blushed, would he really?

 

“That should appease your Grace.” A low voice sounded from the back. Lord Tywin stood and gestured to Sansa, “Do not embarrass the girl with southern tradition. She is clearly shy.” Joffrey’s face was turning red but he dared not defy his grandfather. Sandor nodded his thanks and stood up. Dizziness threatening to make him fall. He shook his head, how much had he drunk? He looked over and saw four flagons of wine. He made his way over to Sansa and picked her up as he did three years ago saving her from that damned alleyway. He heard people cheering as he left the hall and made his way to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your Kudos! 
> 
>  
> 
> <3 <3 <3 <3


	4. CHAPTER 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding Night!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemons all around!

Sansa was unceremoniously dropped onto her small bed Sandor stumbled back and sat on the stool. “Go to sleep Little Bird.”

 

“What?”

 

“Go to sleep.” He said again. He began taking off his armor and letting it fall to the ground. Sansa slipped out of her dress, leaving her shift on and began pulling her hair down from all the ribbons. She noticed the three bottles of wine on her vanity and hoped Sandor would be too drunk to want them. But that didn’t mean she didn’t need it. When her hair was all loose she looked toward him again. She had never seen him without his armor, his plain threadbare tunic hung on his massive frame comfortably his britches were black but still securely on his hips, he leaned over and removed his boots. She got off the bed and went to bolt the door then turned to the vanity and poured a large cup of wine and drank half she found that she liked the bitter dry taste; she finished the goblet and poured some for Sandor.

 

Sandor hadn’t even looked up at her. She frowned, was she supposed to do something now? In just her thin shift she walked over to him, picking her way through the spilled armor and to where he sat on her dainty stool. When she reached him she put a hand on his shoulder, he looked up at her. “Sansa, please go to bed.” he almost sounded pained. She handed him the cup of wine.

 

“It’s your favorite. Sour Red.” He nodded his thanks and drank it in one gulp; she turned his wrist over and unlaced the vambrace she pulled it off of him.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked, shivering at her feather-light touch.

 

“Helping you.”

 

“Go to bed Little Bird.” he set the goblet down on the ground and looked for the bottle, tonight would be a long night.

 

“You are supposed to join me.”

 

“Sansa…”

 

“You promised Joffrey the sheet tomorrow,” She reminded him.

 

“There are ways to fake that Little Bird.”

 

She frowned why would he want to fake this, “Sandor...Why would you fake that?”

 

“You don’t want me.” He looked down at the floor, anywhere but her.

 

Sansa knew she wanted him in her bed, she knew she wanted his huge body over hers. She wanted this to be complete and wanted him to...She didn't know. She just knew if they did this then Joffrey would finally leave her alone, but it was more than that. It was the undeniable thing that linger between them that she felt every time she saw him. It was in the way he always protected her, in the way his gray eyes were always trained on her when she entered a room in the heat that always sat between them. Sansa wanted him and now she could have him.

 

Even though he was sitting and she was standing the top of his head came to her chin. She reached up to smooth his hair away from his face. He jerked away and grabbed her wrist; she winced, having forgotten completely that Joffrey had bruised her there not fifteen minutes ago. “See you even wince now. I’ve only touched your wrist.” his teeth were clenched anger flaring in his eyes.

 

“Sandor… that’s not…”

 

“Don’t lie to me!” He said angrily. “How could you want me when even the whores I pay don’t want me.” Sansa slapped him on his unburned side the force of it turning his head. “Careful girl.” He growled at her.

 

“Listen to me. Joffrey grabbed me, that is why I winced.” She said quickly before he could start yelling again.

 

“That little shit. When?” he demanded.

 

“Before you took me here.” he relaxed his grip on her wrist and looked up at her. She stepped closer to him sharing his heat. She moved his hair, exposing the burned side of his face. Taking a chance she kissed his forehead. Then she moved to kiss the burned side. It felt strange under her lips, divited and unnatural but warm. She felt Sandor's hands wrap around her waist his heat encircling her.

 

Sandor felt her soft lips press against his forehead then moved, he closed his eyes at the soft moment wanting and needing to hold onto it forever. He couldn’t feel her lips on his burned side but knew she was kissing him there. He pulled her closer and rested his head against her small chest the gentle swell of her breasts cradling his head. “Why Little Bird. Why are you so fucking nice?”

 

“Sandor,” He looked up at her hand easily threading through his hair, “earlier today Ser Meryn was, well he offered to take your spot should you drink too much. No, don't move.” She said when he tried to rise, “He said awful things. You have never been awful to me. You have never hit me and only ever tried to tell me the truth. We have both been through so much. I have no desire to be anything but honest with you.” She nibbled her lower lip, she traced the small patch on his cheek that had healed remarkably well. “The other day, I wanted you to kiss me. I didn’t want to wait until you were my husband. I just wanted you.” Hearing her say he was her husband sent shivers down his spine. Her shift was thin and Sandor could see all of her curves through the moonlight. He slid his hands from her back to her ass. The perfect roundness of it filled his hands pleasingly. He squeezed and heard her give a small gasp.

 

“Are you wearing any small clothes?”

 

“...No.” She answered. Sandor groaned and lifted her as he stood. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck. He looked at her rosebud mouth, wanting nothing more than to taste it. He slid one hand behind her neck and gently urged her closer to his lips, he wanted her to want him. Sansa leaned down and pressed her lips to his twisted ones. She made a small sound in the back of her throat. He twisted his hand in her red locks and made his way to the bed. He kissed her again with more force and pressed his tongue to her lips, she obliged him and opened her mouth. He teased her with his tongue and was happily surprised when she responded, testing, experimenting. Sandor lowered her to bed her legs still wrapped around his wait he gave an experimental thrust with the protection of his britches. She groaned into his mouth, he could feel the heat coming from her woman’s place. Could she actually want this?

 

Sansa felt a shock of pleasure when he thrust against her woman’s place. She felt his hands sliding down her sides. She arched closer to him. He broke the kiss. “Sansa, you are overdressed.” he gripped the sides of her old garment and tore it, the sound of it ripping adding heat in Sansa’s eyes, she unlocked her legs from around him when he began to rise. Sandor gazed down at her and she felt her nipples harden. His eyes roamed her naked body, he noticed the copper thatch of curls nestled between her legs. He ran his hand over his mouth. What would she taste like?  He bent over her again and kissed her hard. He traced small kisses down the side of her neck and to her breast. He took one in his large hand and palmed it roughly rolling the nipple into a peak. She gasped, loving the feel of his calloused hand against her soft flesh wanting more. He kissed down to her other nipple, taking it into his mouth. Sansa arched into him again trying to get closer to the wet heat of his mouth, he used his tongue to flick against her hardened bud. Her breathing labored, a tight knot in her lower stomach began building. Her hands found their way to his hair, she gripped on the black locks her nails scratching his scalp.

 

Sandor traced his other hand down her side and over her hip. He felt her hands in his hair. He released her nipple long enough to order her to spread her legs. She did. He rubbed the soft curls on her mound and heard her whimper sliding his hand down lower and found her woman’s bud. Sansa tensed when he began to circle it. Her lips already wet for him, his cock strained against the fabric of his britches.  Carefully he slipped one finger into her, she was tight to tight for him he felt her barrier and was careful to not tear it. She groaned letting her head fall back as he began moving his finger in and out of her. She let her thighs spread wide to accommodate him.

 

Sansa panted under his ministrations. He pinched her nipple with his hand and gently nipped her other with his teeth. She yelped as heat flood her the ball in her so tight she began to beg him; “Please Sandor… please.” She didn’t know what she was begging for, only that she needed it. He released her nipple from his mouth and she felt him slide another finger in her. Sansa ground her hips against his hand desperate to let the ball burst. Sandor kissed her again and she gave a frustrated mewl against his lips. She felt her body tightening. “Please.” Sandor knew what she wanted. He wanted to see her face when he gave it to her. He pressed directly on her woman's bud and rubbed it back and forth while stretching her.

 

She bucked against him her eyes fluttering closed, she was so close, “Look at me.” His voice raspy as he uttered demanded, her blue eyes opened and focused on him. He increased his speed and Sansa’s mouth opened in small ‘O’ as she yelled out her ecstasy. Her walls contracted against his fingers, still he fucked her with his fingers until the squeezing against him stopped. He pulled out his fingers and placed them in front of her mouth. “Lick.” She did, taking his fingers into her small sweet mouth. Sandor groaned aloud at the feel of her small tongue sliding over his digits.

 

When she released his fingers she said; “Sandor take off your clothes.”

 

“Sansa… If I do...”

 

“Take them off.” She demanded, reaching down to pull of his loose shirt. He took it off before she ripped it. He tossed it next to her torn shift. She eyed him with her wide blue eyes, sitting up she ran his hands against his chest. “I didn’t expect you to be so ...Hairy.”

 

Sandor barked out a laugh, of all the things she could have pointed at; the litany of scars the gouges or bruises she told him he was hairy. “Aye little bird, most men are.”

 

“Your britches are still on.”

 

“If I take them off there is no going back Little Bird. It will hurt and I will not be able to stop myself.”

 

“I want this Sandor, I trust you.” She said softly. Sandor unlaced them and shucked them down to his knees. His manhood sprang from its confines he heard her intake of breath. Sansa slid off the bed and knelt in front of him.

 

“What are you doing?” He asked her, he got his answer when she gripped the base of his manhood and slid her hand up and down his shaft. Sandor groaned at the feel of her small delicate hand wrapped around him growing impossibly harder when he realized her hand couldn’t fit around it.

 

Sansa worked her hand up and down his massive shaft, and soon there was a small drop of moisture at the tip. His skin felt like steel wrapped in rose petals. Remembering what her maid said she tentatively licked the tip, lapping up the moisture it was surprisingly sweet. Sandor made an animalistic sound and tangled his hand in her hair and yanked her back. “Don’t tease me girl.” his voice sounded strained. Looking up at him she took the tip of him into her mouth and he shouted “ **Fuck**.”

 

Sandor forced himself not to buck instantly into her small mouth. She was inexperienced but was experimenting. She used her tongue to swirl around the tip of his member he gripped the bedpost, his head fell back as the heat of her wet mouth encircled him. She took him deeper into her mouth letting her tongue explore his length, she found three bumps under the head of his member, gently she nibbled. Sandor bucked then, sliding his cock to the back of her throat, his hand preventing her from pulling away. She made a choking sound and Sandor groaned, he tightened his grip on the back of her hair and forced her head further down his cock needing more, he looked down and saw her looking back up at him with tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, her mouth had opened slightly allowing him to thrust as he pleased. He almost stopped and pulled his length out from her mouth. She clutched his thighs with her nails digging into his skin, she wanted him to continue. He felt the spit leaking from her mouth, knew it was covering her chin and dripping down her front Sandor shuttered and bucked again gaining a small mewling sound from her he continued sliding in and out of her mouth glad her hand was there at the base of his member. She started to slid her hand up and down the part of his shaft not in her mouth, his balls tightened and he withdrew and pulled her up before he spilled in her mouth.

 

“Was it wrong?” She asked, her lips swollen from sucking him. He gently wiped away the remaining wetness she had on her lower mouth and chin.

 

“Seven fucking hells no; where the fuck did you learn that?” He gave her no time to answer as he kissed her again and ripped back the covers on the bed. “Get on the damn bed.” She didn’t need to be told twice. She lay on her back, Sandor crawled into the bed with her; it creaked under his weight. “Spread your legs,” He saw the heat creep up her face as she spread her thighs slightly, just like she had done moments ago, “Wider.” he commanded; her eyes widened and, “Wider.” He said again and she obeyed; her creamy thighs spread wide for him. He kicked off his pants and settled himself between her thighs. “Last chance, woman.” he forced himself to say, she responded by kissing him. Sandor didn’t break the kiss and positioned himself at her entrance. He could feel her heat as he rubbed the tip against her; teasing a frustrated groan out of her. She didn’t know what she was asking for, she could never go back after this. He entered her slowly. Her body easily giving away to his intrusion before he reached her barrier.

 

He broke the kiss and looked down at her; grey eyes clashing with ice blue ones. “I’m sorry.” He said. Before she could say anything he retook her lips and plunged forward. Pain seared through her and she yelped. Real tears falling from the corners of her eyes. Sansa broke the kiss again.

 

“You’re too large.” she squeaked out.

 

“I’m sorry.” He kissed one side of her face, then the other, “I’m sorry Little Bird.” Sansa contracted her walls around him and he groaned he instinctually moved slowly sending waves of pain through her body, she gasped. “Too soon?” she nodded. Sandor cursed, he wasn’t even fully seated inside of her. He bent his head and kissed and nibbled the side of her neck, giving her time to adjust to his size.

 

He needed to stoke her fire back to life. He reached up and grasped her breast, squeezing it and rolling the nipple back and forth between his thumb and fingers. She whimpered needing more, Sandor lifted his body carefully and leaned down to lick the curve of her breast. Bracing himself he skimmed his hand down her belly and between them; she was spread wide and he had no issue finding her sensitive bud. Gently he rubbed it until he heard her panting again.

 

Sansa felt his calloused fingers squeezing her, she felt his tongue flick against the sensitive flesh of her breast. Slowly, she relaxed into his touch and felt her nerves begin to bundle together, driving her to get more. She wrapped her legs around his waist and moved gently against him, Sandor took this as a sign he was able to move again. He thrust in deeper, Sansa’s eyes widened, “There cannot be more of you.”

 

“Aye little bird, there is.” He said and pushing his final inches into her. She cried out and gripped his shoulders, her manicured nails digging into their scarred surfaces. He gave another small thrust in this position and was rewarded with a sharp intake of her breath and a gasp from her. She rotated her hips, trying to add to her tension, trying to seek release again.  

 

Sansa groaned when he thrust deeper into her. He pressed his forehead to hers as he moved slowly in and out of her tight sheath. Her blue eyes staring into his gray ones. He pulled her closer to him by sliding one hand on her shoulder to steady her while he pushed in and out of her, his thrusts powerful and blinding. Her pants growing louder into soft moans, he slid out of her completely and she whimpered. He settled on his knees and lifted her. Slightly confused Sansa allowed herself to be pulled up and settled in his lap. “What…?” He answered her by easing her down on his cock. A small twinge of pain made her gasp. Heat rushed between them as she hooked an arm around the back of his neck and gripped his shoulder with the other her long legs gripping his sides as he moved in and out of her.

 

Sansa kissed him as his hands gripped her ass guiding her up and down his cock. Tiny shocks of pain pleasure spread throughout her. He growled in the back of his throat when she slid her hand to the back of his head and pulled his hair. He broke the kiss needing something more than her soft kisses. “Sansa.” He panted. She rolled her hips again and found a bundle of nerves that made her cry out with pleasure. Her head fell back exposing her neck to him, he kissed it. Thrusting deep following the angle she had set for herself, her nails dug into his shoulders leaving tiny scratches he was sure to feel in the morning. She yanked his hair as her climax took her. He felt her tight walls spasm around him, he rammed deeper, riding her through her climax. He felt his own orgasm building and when she screamed his name he came undone, impaling her one final time spilling his seed deep inside of her. His body shuddering with the power of his orgasm. Her walls still contracted around him as if trying to wring every drop of seed from him.

 

She slumped against him, her hand still tangled in his hair and legs still wrapped around his waist. They clutched each other, panting into the night, and catching their breath. She recovered first and kissed him softly; he returned it and slid gently out of her body. He laid her down gently on the bed and lay beside her, she sleepy protested the loss of his manhood and Sandor pulled her against him. She nestled softly in the crook of her arm and chest, falling asleep faster than he thought possible. Her red hair covering her face and spilling onto his chest. He picked up a long lock and twisted it in between his fingers. Sandor had couldn't remember feeling this content or sated in a while. He kissed the top of his wife's head and fell into a deep slumber, happy he managed to not break her tiny bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Lemons :) 
> 
> Also sorry if there are any typos.

Sandor woke just as the sun crested the horizon, pinks and purples laced through the room confusing him; his room didn’t have a window. He looked up and didn’t see another bunk on top of his, there was no loud snoring of men around him either. The bed was small but softer than his, his feet hung over the end of it just barely covered with the sheet. Then  _ she  _ moved against him. Sansa had turned in her sleep, her head rested fully on his massive chest and the sheet was kicked to the low, exposing her back, her soft breast pressed to his side, one of her supple legs hooked over one of his. He could get used to waking up like this. His normal morning companion bobbed at him, desperately needing to be sheathed.  Gently he traced small circles along her spine, needing to take her again before they rode for Winterfell. She gave a sleepy groan and buried herself deeper into his body. Her red hair spilling over his chest covering her face. “Sansa…” 

 

“No.” She said grumpily and turned over, her back to him. He could work with that, he turned so his chest was against her back. He gripped her hip and found her still slick from last night as he rubbed himself against her. He pressed into her. She gasped as he slowly rocked his tip back and forth in her, grinding his hips into her rear. “Sandor…” He didn’t answer her with words instead, he reached up and grasped her breast. She whimpered pleasantly as he teased her nipple into a peak as he continued to rocked himself in and out of her, she reached up and grasped his hand needing him to stop and continue at the same time. Sandor buried his face in her red hair and buried himself to the hilt inside of her; groaning at the pleasure of her tight body enveloping him. Sansa gave a fractured gasp, enjoying the sparks of pain pleasure he delivered to her and shifted to give him more space. Sandor growled and pounded into her, the only sound the in the room the sound of her panting and the wet slap of flesh against flesh, his hand left her breast and lifted her leg, allowing to grind deeper into her.

 

She cried out at this new angle, his cock was seated deep within her her already sore body. She felt his hard fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thigh adding to her heat. She thrust her hips back meeting his thrust for thrust. Sansa arched her back and she felt Sandor's whiskered kisses on her shoulder, sending her over the edge, she turned and bit the pillow as she screamed climaxed. Sandor increased his grip on her thigh, as her walls clamped down on him, convulsing spasmodically. His body responded to hers and he came on a heavy groan filling her again with his seed. 

 

“You’re mine now Little Bird.” He whispered; she didn’t hear it. He continued to kiss her shoulder. Sansa whimpered against him and his cock jumped at the sound, still fully seated within her he elicited another small sound from her. A knock sounded at the door, “Fuck off.” He yelled.  

 

“Sandor...that’s probably my maid.”  She heard Sandor groan irritably. 

“Two months on the road is a long time Little Bird.” He slid out of her and stood up. She looked at him in the dim sunlight. His body was scared beyond what any normal human could or should endure. The hair on his chest did nothing to hide a scar cutting across his chest and down his side. Sansa wanted to hear the story behind every scar, every nick, and every burn.  He bent and snagged his britches, pulling them on he went to open the door. 

 

“M’ Lord, M’lady?” Her old maid asked bobbing a curtsy.

 

“Come in.” She smiled from the bed pulling the sheet up to her chin while still lying prone on the bed, to sore and sated to move in the moment. 

 

Her maid stilled at the sight of her bedroom then broke into a wide smile, “Looks like you had quite the night m’lady.”  She looked at the mess of armor and torn garments, “Should I fetch breakfast?” She looked at Sandor then, “OOhhh, never mind I’ll have them send up the whole damn kitchen.” Sandor barked out a laugh; liking Sansa’s old maid. 

 

“Aye, send up a bath too for my wife.” The old maid nodded then left the room to do as she was bid. “I thought you had a different maid.”

 

“I did, Shea was attentive but she wanted to be with Tyrion. So I dismissed her.”

 

“The Imp?”

 

“Yes, she was his spy and his….bedwarmer.” She said blushing. Sansa wrapped the sheet around her as she sat up. “I like Mrs. Leeds and am sad to have to leave her here.”

 

“She could come up North with us.” Sandor offered wanting his wife to be happy.

 

“I asked her already, she said she wouldn’t leave her children even though they are all grown.” She smiled at him, her red hair showing highlights of ruby and garnet when the sun hit it just right. She nibbled on her lower lip as the silence descended between them. Sandor knew it was something she did when she was nervous or wanted to ask anyone a question.

 

“What is it Sansa?” He asked, using her name, not girl or Little Bird.

 

“What?..oh… It’s just I never thought about children until a few days ago. I always assumed I would have them. I, well, I don’t know if you want any children.” She said softly.

 

Sandor moved to the bed, his weight making the mattress sink, Sansa wet her lips as he settled next to her she noticed the small scratches on his shoulders and realized with a start they were from her. “I don’t really have a choice in the matter do I?”

 

“What do you mean by that?” 

 

“With me being Lord Stark now I will need an heir.” His gray eyes flicked down to her flat stomach. 

 

“That does not mean you  _ want  _ a child.”

 

“I have never given it thought Little Bird. Most women I saw took Moontea to prevent such a thing from happening.”

 

“Should I order some before we leave?”

 

“No.” He said faster and louder than he meant to. “No, Little Bird.” She smiled at him and Sandor leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. 

 

She reached out and traced the damage she had done to his body, he didn’t seem to notice or if he did he didn’t seem to care, as if this was a normal thing. “Does...do these hurt?” it was as silly question, he had sustained far worse in battle but she didn’t want her new husband to think she was some kind of wild animal.  

 

Sandor gave her a wicked smile, “No Little Bird, they don’t.”

 

“They look like they do. They are all red, I shouldn't have done that to you last night. I’m sorry.” She realized them that he was shaking with laughter, “What's so funny?”

 

“You.” She frowned at him, “Men wear these scratches as badges of pride. It shows we know how to please a woman.” She blushed, “From the looks of it; I would say you enjoyed last night.” Sansa gave the slightest bit of a nod. He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefingers. “Good.” He kissed her hard, “You are mine now and I am yours.” She nodded her face still flush with embarrassment. “I best be getting everything ready.” He stood up and grabbed his shirt from the floor. Sansa slipped off the bed with the sheet still wrapped around her. 

 

“Are we traveling in coach or on Horseback?”

 

“Horseback is faster.” He said as he started putting his armor on. Sansa smiled behind his back. She would have to get some britches. There was no way she was traveling as a woman again back to Winterfell, it had been hell on her back in her stays. She would ask Mrs. Leeds to sneak some clothes back to her. 

 

The door knocked again and a servant entered. He was short, pudgy, and had a mop of golden hair. “I did not bid you enter.” Sandor snarled at the boy. 

 

The boy visibly took a step back and in a meek voice managed. “The King wants you both.”

 

“Now?” Sansa asked looking down at her disheveled state.

 

“He says he is feeling generous and wants to see you both in an hour...and to bring…” The boy blushed.

 

“I know that that little bugger wants. Fuck off.” He barked the order and the boy tripped rushing to get out. Sansa looked at her husband who wore a look of anger mixed with disbelief, “What the buggering hell was he thinking just opening the door?” Sansa couldn’t help but laugh. 

 

Just then there was another knock on the door and an announcement, “It’s me.” Mrs. Leeds called out, “I brought some maids with your bath.” Sandor opened the door looking perturbed.

 

“Dearie, you look a right mess.” She ignored Sandor and ushered the girls into her room who deposited the hot water in Sansa’s small tub. When the women left Sansa dropped the sheet and went to the steaming bath. Sandor’s eyes traveled his wife quickly wanting to see her in the daylight, she was pale and supple, with extra padding in all the right places. His eyes landed on her small patch of curls between her legs and lower, blood was smeared on her thighs. He wanted to wince, wanted to feel some kind of guilt for causing it to be on her thighs but he couldn’t. It was irrevocable proof she belonged to  _ him  _ now. She stepped into it and sank down with a grateful moan. “M’Lord…” Mrs. Leeds voice dragged Sandors eyes from his wife. “Don’t be getting her dirty again I have to comb out this rats-nest you made of her hair.” Sansa giggled and Sandor gave a feral grin. 

 

“It’s too bad you can’t come with us, Mrs. Leeds. I will likely be putting that rats-nest in her hair nightly.”  He leaned back on the tiny stool and heard it crack. Sandor tried and failed to get up fast enough, the wood collapsed under him. Sandor landed on his ass and heard to two women cackling. “I hope you have sturdier furniture at Winterfell  _ Wife _ .” He groaned as he stood up and rubbed his backside. This only served to gather more gales of laughter from the women. He could only grumbled at them. 

 

When Sansa’s hair was washed and combed, her skin was scrubbed pink. Mrs. Leeds put lavender oil in her hair and plated it while it was still wet. “What will it be today?” She asked wanting to know what dress to select. “Actually…” Sansa leaned down and whispered in her ear about the britches she wanted. Mrs. Leeds flushed. “Oh aye, I know where to get them.” She handed Sansa a robe and quit the room. 

 

Sansa stood slipped on the robe and heard Sandor cursing at his armor. He looked up at her and gestured helplessly to leather bands he could not knot. “Fuckers oiled the leather now I can’t grip it worth shit.” Sansa smirked and went to help him. 

 

“You’ll travel in this?” She deftly tied the knot, “Won't that get uncomfortable? 

 

“Not as much as your dress Little Bird.” Mrs. Leeds came back into the room. Sandor excused himself to speak with Ser Meryn and a few other knights. He said it was because of the duties they would be taking over but Sansa knew he’s not forgotten what she had told him last night. 

 

Her maid had secured her five pairs of britches and three shirts. “They are the smallest they had.” Sansa slid them on, surprised to find one pair fit perfectly molding to her thighs and hips and giving her a range move movement and modestly skirts would not have allowed. This must have been the luxury Arya was talking about. Sansa felt she was able to move so freely she might actually start running. Sansa opted for a half corset as it laced in the front and would be easiest to deal with on the road; she slid on the soft leather boots her maid also managed to nick. Sandor entered the room as she laced up the last of her boots.

 

He stopped dead in the doorway, “No.” He said flatly a frown marring his face. 

 

“Sandor…” She  tried to argue but he interrupted. 

 

“You are a woman married, not your buggering sister!”

 

“Sandor…”She  tried to argue but he interrupted again having none of it.

 

“You have all these dresses!” He snapped at her.

 

“Sandor! It easier to travel wearing britches you know that. I won’t need a maid either. I will be able to dress myself. ” He glared at her unable to deny her logic but not happy with it. 

 

“Those britches are too tight, you can see your every curve!” He used his last defense. No one should see what was his. “Besides, what will my men think of my new wife.”

 

“That she is very sensible.” She countered, “They are not to tight, I feel very comfortable in them.” Crossing her arms and glaring up at him.

 

“You're not going to win this one lad. When the lady sets herself on a path it would take a dragon to change her mind.” Mrs. Leeds said at Sansa’s side. Sandor narrowed his eyes and threw his hands up in defeat. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King gets his present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update.

Sansa took the carefully folded the sheets from her maid; who’d given her a sympathetic look; and held them in front of her. “It will be okay Dearie, you just keep your back straight.” She made a motherly sound and reached up and kissed each of Sansa’s cheeks. “Quickly now before the King gets himself in a snit.” Sansa offered her maid a watery smile, the woman had been like a mother to her over the last few years and she was truly sad to leave her. 

 

“You look as if we are going to place an offering.” Sandor cleared his throat. 

 

“Is it not?” She asked looking up at him. “One last humiliation from Joffrey.” 

 

“The sheet or me?” He asked suddenly unsure about himself.

 

“The sheet, not you. I meant what I said last night Sandor.”

 

Sandor grunted appeased with her reassurance, “Little Bird, they will expect me to have been very rough with you last night and this morning.”

 

“I will tell the King the truth.” She said as he opened the door.

 

“Sansa,” He grabbed her arm and spun her to face him.  “What will you tell the King?”

 

“That you,  _ husband _ ; thoroughly wore me out and I am very sore.” She blushed at her own words.  She noticed the start of bruising on his knuckles, “I wish I had been there when you spoke with Ser Meryn.” She stood up on her tip toes and kissed his unburnt cheek, “I would have loved to have seen his face when you told him about your _duties_.” She smirked. 

 

He looked down at his hands and silently cursed himself, Meryn had been awake and jesting with the others about his wife. Making comments about the color of her hair between her thighs and whether she was a crier or a screamer. Sandor couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to, he punched Ser Meryn sending him reeling across the room. Sandor scrubbed his hands down his face, “Don’t antagonize the King.” He warned. 

 

She shrugged not agreeing to his demand but not denying it either.  Sandor inwardly thought she would be the death of him. They walked down the halls in silence, their only companion was the clinking of his heavy armor. As they reached the throne room a guard opened the door and announced them as Lord and Lady Stark. Sansa felt an odd pang of pain in her chest, she missed seeing her parents whenever those titles were announced she never thought it would be her walking out with the announcement. A sea of silks and velvets parted before them, allowing them access to the boy King. 

 

“Lord and Lady Stark.” The King leered at them Sandor bowed and she curtsied automatically, she saw he eyed her change in normal garb but didn't say anything right away. “I trust you had an enjoyable evening.” The courtiers behind them snickered, Sandor tensed and she rested her hand and his arm. She never thought he would be so affected by what other people thought.  But he was. 

 

“Aye your grace,” Sandor said. 

 

“And she went to you willingly?” The King asked.

 

“Does it matter?” Sandor responded; the men surrounding the king laughed. Sansa flicked her eyes to Ser Meryn and noted with some satisfaction that his left eye was beginning to purple and his lip was split. His eyes never met hers they only glared at Sandor. 

 

Joffrey feigned concern. “I would not have wed my Lady Sansa to a rapist. Let me ask you my Lady Stark, did my Dog force you? Have you on your knees like a dog takes his _bitch_?”

 

Sansa winced but smiled sweetly and said softly, “I went willingly your grace.” She remembered what she had been taught,  _ Manners are a ladies armor and weapon _ ... 

 

“Well, we are all friends here. Tell me about it.” He leaned back in his throne.

 

Sansa started, did he expect her to describe what happened last night in detail? “Your Grace? I don’t think…”

 

“Come now, Lady Sansa you are a married woman now and as you said you went willingly to my Dog. Best a Stark bitch like you can expect now.”

 

Sansa clutched the sheets to her chest then looked at the pale blonde boy King, “Your Grace.” She felt her blush rising, “His Lordship....”

 

“Spit it out or I will make you act it out again here on the court floor!” 

 

Sansa narrowed her eyes and straightened her back and Sandor realized she was a warrior in this courtroom. She could wield a compliment or a comment like he did his broadsword and these people wanted to hear what kind of monster he was. “His Lordship is very well…..accomplished. He was very gentle, knowing my maiden state.” She said smoothly.

 

“Was he now? Why are you wearing _britches_ then? Seems to me skirts are easier to get into.” The court burst into laughter and Sansa blushed lightly. “Afraid you’ll get raped on the road? That's the hound's job.” 

 

“Your Grace…”

“Come now Lady Sansa you must have seen how he panted over you these last years? No dog could covet a bone for so long and not break it when it is finally given to him.” Sandor flinched. “The whole court knew he wanted to bend you over and fuck you bloody.” Sansa lowered her eyes, had she not noticed how he looked at her? “I’ll wager you're too bloody from last night to want him between your thighs again.” Sansa didn’t say anything, she was deliciously sore from their lovemaking but she wouldn’t let herself become Joffrey’s pawn again. She turned her head to her husband looking down at the floor, he was vibrating with anger. 

 

“Aye, she’s sore. Should be after I took her,” he growled, saving Sansa from speaking. 

 

Joffrey smiled his wormy smile, “Is that my present Dog?” When Sandor nodded, Sansa handed the sheets to him who handed it to a Kingsguard knight.  “Open them,” Joffrey commanded. 

 

The knight holding them unfolded them and on the sheets lay several red stains, proof of her virginity gone and belonging to Sandor. Sansa felt suddenly exposed and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. He heard one lady behind her whispering to her daughter, “For every stain, you see there girl is how many times he took her last night. Be glad you're not married to a _monster_ like that.” Sandor stiffened aggravated at himself for not seeing how much she had bled last night. He’s expected the blood on her thighs but not that much on the sheet. He felt his wife’s hand gently nudge his, it was the most affection she could show him in front of the king. 

 

“Lady Sansa?” The King looked at her with the briefest of concern flitting through his eyes, then it turned into something else altogether; something Sansa did not want to contemplate. 

 

Margaery’s eyes widened. “Are you alright?” She asked in almost a whisper looking at from Sandor to her. Sansa knew what everyone was thinking, that he must have ripped her in two during their pairing. He was so big and she was so small Sansa only gave them one of her smiles, the ones reserved for those she hated. she folded her hands in front of her.

 

“Very Much. My husband thoroughly wore me out and even though I am sore I am very…” The king leaned in waiting for her to finish her sentence, “Satisfied.” She said despite the red hot blush on her cheeks. Sandor chuckled darkly letting the king hear it, the little bird had actually said it. Behind them, courtiers waited for their king's reaction to her words. Several ladies began to fan themselves. 

 

“My wife was very adventurous last night. You gave me the greatest gift.”  Sandor taunted Joffrey and bowed knowing that he could do nothing about the compliment, he wondered if this was how Sansa felt every time she spoke to someone she disliked. The spiteful petty happiness that swirled inside of him at the king's glare. He knew that Joffrey was expecting one of two things to happen last night, that Sandor would not take her and suffer the consequences or take her so thoroughly that he destroyed her.  

 

“Good, I am glad she served you well Dog.” Joffrey seemed to lose interest after that, seeing that no one was tortured and he could not goad Sansa into crying. Turning to another courtier to torture and dismissed them as if they were nothing. 

 

****

Sandor led her out to the courtyard where the last of their trunks were being loaded onto a cart. Around thirty men stood around them in yellow tabards all looking quite nervous. Sandor explained to Sansa that they had been summoned the day of their engagement from Clegane Keep via raven and that they would be accompanying them North. They would become part of the Stark Household. The men eyed her warily but still stood in the correct formation. 

 

“Are they to travel under your old banner?” She asked him.

 

“Until I have Stark tabards then that is all they have.” Sansa nodded her understanding and watched her husband go and greet his men. They all looked nervous around him except a few taller men who seemed to be slapping him on the back; she noticed the men were either very old or very young, no man other than Sandor himself was in his prime. 

 

She turned away from the masculine sight and was met with a huge black horse. His neck was bent so that his big black eyes met hers. Sansa had never been skittish around horses so she reached out her hand and let the horse smell her. The horse snorted at her, perturbed. “I don’t have an apple.” She said. The horse gently pawed at the barrel holding some saddlebags. Sansa lifted one flap and saw a red apple sitting on top of some scrolls. Closing the flap she turned back to the horse she offered it gently and he took it, crunching juice and fruit all over the ground. Sansa scratched his nose, the horse’s ears went back but allowed the affectionate scratch. He started to nuzzle her again for more apples. 

 

A few feet away John pointed to Sansa and the black horse. “Looks like we got a mistress who tamed our Lord and his horse.” he laughed; he himself had lost a finger to the warhorse some years back. Sandor turned to see Sansa offering Stanger an apple then scratch his nose. And Stranger  **allowed** it. The horse's ears went back, a sign he was unsure but he watched as his little wife soothed the horse by murmuring something to him. Apparently satisfied with her level of care, he began to nuzzle her again for more. 

 

“So it’s true, the King gave you Sansa Stark,”  Allistor asked him, following his gaze to the tiny redhead.

 

“Aye. He gave her to me.” Sandor said he thought that she had given herself to him last night. She had trusted him with something important but unspoken between them, something he suspected had been there for a long time.  

 

“Why the bloody hell is your lady wearing pants?” John asked, “Ye didn’t hurt that tiny girl did ye?” There was a real concern there, Sandor's older brother was not known to keep his women around long. 

 

Sandor slapped him on the back of his head, “She is  _ my  _ woman. I’ll not hurt her.” 

 

“Alright alright,  _ Lord Stark _ .” John teased him. “Won’t her brothers have something to say about that?” Sandor looked to his friend and shrugged.

 

“Who the fuck knows. Saddle up. We leave in 10 minutes.” John nodded and began ordering the men around Sandor turned back to his wife who hands managed to let Stranger pet his neck. As he came closer he called out to her, “Careful Little Bird, he’s a warhorse, known to bit off a few fingers if you touch him wrong.” He reached out with his knuckles and rubbed the horse's nose. The horse’s eyes closed and Sandor felt him relax. 

 

“What is his name?” She asked softly. 

 

“Stranger.” 

 

“What? ...Like  _ the Strange _ r?” She looked at him in shock her blue eyes wide. 

 

Sandor laughed at her look of shock, the sound of his laugh was rusty and made Stranger step back in irritation. “Aye. He’ll stomp a man to death as fast as I swing my sword.” He saddled the huge beast, securing the reigns. After he readied Stranger he took her over to meet the men who he had been speaking with earlier. “Allistor and John…” He made the introductions properly if a bit awkwardly. She smiled at them as they bowed to her. “M’Lady.”

 

“I understand you are part of Sandor's house guard?” She asked them genuinely interested. 

 

“Aye.” John said and gave her a smile, he was missing a few teeth, “Been with the Clegane's since it was a house to be made.”

 

“So you knew Sandor growing up?”

 

“Aye,” He leaned in conspiratorially and murmured to her, “Smart lad that one, don't let him fool ya.” She smiled at the older man. 

 

Allistor introduced himself as the master at arms for Clegane Keep. “I am sure you both will have many stories to tell me about my husband.”

 

Sandor glared at the men not wanting them to divulge anything about his past to her, it was dirty and ugly and painful. She didn’t need to hear about what happened to his sister or his father; let alone himself. “Come wife.” He took her hand and they headed back to Stranger then bent and boosted her up on his horse. He swung up behind her. Sansa knew it would be a long time before they stopped so she made herself comfortable against Sandor; she wanted to ask him so many things but felt his mood shift and wisely stayed silent. 

 

****

They left Kings Landing without incident and with no one to see them off except Margaery. The beautiful woman waved and then disappeared back into the Red Keep trailed by her many handmaidens, Sansa almost felt sorry for her but she seemed to know what she was doing. When Sansa thought they would stop for the evening, they only stopped for a break to eat and to make water. “Are we not to rest?” 

 

“No little bird. Not this close to King's Landing. We will rest tomorrow.” He lifted her back on to Stranger and swung up behind her. She was tired of not talking so she asked him, “That scar on your chest, how’d you get it?” She was expecting him to tell her which battle and that he killed the man, nothing could have prepared her for his answer.

 

“Gregor, we were in the training yard he grabbed a real sword and not a practicing one. Said it was an accident.” 

 

“Your own brother?” She turned to look at him. His face was a mask, the same one he put on when Joffrey was being cruel.

 

“Yes.” his teeth were clenched.

 

“He gave you the burn didn’t he?” Littlefinger had told her he had but she didn’t know if what she heard had been true, Littlefinger after all was forever lying. 

 

“Yes.” He said quietly, he was silent for so long that she wanted to ask him why when he started again. “He thought I stole one of his toys. I didn’t, I was just playin’ with it.” he paused again and Sansa remained quiet letting him gather his thoughts, “The pain was bad, smell was worse. But the worst part was that my brother had done it. And my father protected him, told everyone my bedding caught fire.”  Sansa was shocked, how could one family member do that to another then cover it up? She looked up at him as he stared ahead. 

 

“I’m sorry.” She said.

 

“Don’t need your pity wife.” He was angry, she could tell in the way he held the reigns.

 

“You have my sympathies, not my pity.” She responded and felt his shoulders relax. 

 

****

 

And so it went for four weeks, two days on Stranger, one-night rest Sansa asking him as many questions as she could think of. Most of the time he simply answered “Battle, Gregor or barfight.” She didn’t know why he really didn't want to talk about his past but she wanted to know everything about him. Every night they didn’t set up any official camp, simply unrolling bedrolls and sleeping under the stars eating what rations they had and building several small fires. She was sore but did not complain. She was finally going home. 

 

Sandor watched one evening as they set up their little camp noticing she did her part by gathering firewood and water, even if his men took the buckets of water away from her or the logs she's managed to collect. She even helped peel some potatoes for their dinner one eve. He liked her like this, her hair down and laughing. She teased his men relentlessly and they actually blushed when she did. John settled next to him passing him an apple, “The men like her.” He said with a grunt. “They are surprised as shit ye aren't within her every night.” 

 

Sandor bit into his apple determined not to answer that particular question. He had wanted to every night but didn’t want to embarrass her. He’d thought about it countless times with her riding between his legs every day, her soft lush ass rubbing against him. If he thought he could get away with wrapping his hand around her mouth and fucking her from behind with no one hearing he would; but even through his hand, he thought she would be too embarrassed the next morning. 

 

“She’s a lady.” He answered finally. 

 

John snorted. “A lady that knows how to peel potatoes, gather wood, and wears britches?” 

 

“She’s a northern lady.” He said pointedly. “And she’s sensible.” He used Sansa’s reasoning the day they left Kings Landing. 

 

“That she is,” John admitted, he leaned back against the same tree Sandor was and sat in silence with Sandor watching Sansa talk among the men and making them laugh. “She’s like yer mother. All soft and warm, nothing harsh about that woman ye got.”

 

Sandor looked to the older man, it wasn't often he heard about his mother, he had brief memories of her from when he was a child. Mostly he remembered her singing to him after his burn. “She always had a way of putting you three first. Even managed to keep Gregor under control most of the time.” Sandor grunted not remembering any time his brother's rage was in check. “She wanted him punished you know, for what he did to ye. Said she couldn’t stand that she was afraid for the rest of ya.”

 

“Afraid?”

 

“Aye, she fought with yer father for weeks.” John leaned forward and pulled the wineskin from his hip, he took a swing and passed it to him. Sandor took a small sip and handed it back. He wanted to remember this conversation, “He finally had enough and hit her.  She came to us after that, we were gonna help her escape and take ye and yer sister back to her home.” John said and Sandor realized he must already be deep in his cups to be revealing this much about his mother, “It wasn’t long after that we had to bury her.” The old man seemed to be lost in his thoughts. “Then Gregor was sent away and your father, stupid shit as he was, lost himself to the bottle, then to his son.”

 

“You're saying Gregor killed my mother?” John leveled him a look, Sandor knew Gregor had killed his father, had mutilated and raped his sister before she finally died. He would carry a scar on his back for the rest of his life from when Gregor had beat him down after he’d confronted him about it. He’s only been fifteen and angry and very stupid. Ever since then he’s kept his distance from his brother but always was watching him. 

 

“I don’t want to talk about my brother.” He grumbled. “That cunt will get his when the Stranger takes his soul.” John nodded. 

 

Sansa looked over to see her husband and John sharing a wineskin, he looked so relaxed talking with him. His scar seemed not to bother him nearly as much when he was surrounded by his men. Turning back to the men she asked, “When do your families follow?”

 

“They should be on their way now. There are more men guarding them sos they don’t get hurt.” Said one man. 

 

“How big is Winterfell M’lady?” Another man, she thought his name as Oliver asked. 

 

“Large, when King Robert came to visit we hosted everyone with room to spare. Even if the Imp chose to stay in the kennels.” Laughter greeted that statement and a smile played on her lips. The rest of the evening she told the men stories of her childhood home, of how her father built a sept for her mother and how large the Godswood was. How she would watch Jon and Arya chase each other through the bailey and get scolded by her mother. However as much as she asked about her Lord Husband no one told her stories of his childhood, always changing the subject. Sansa took her losses and simply enjoyed the conversation amongst the men. 

 

***

 

That night Sansa left her boots on when she slid into their shared bedroll; it was too cold on the ground to take them off. Sandor shifted letting her snuggle against him. She reached out and traced the stitching on his tunic. “Little Bird?” He asked her his eyes closed.

 

“Hmmm?” She responded.

 

“Do you want to ask me something?” His deep voice rumbling against her chest. 

 

“Could you tell me about your sister?” the question took him so off guard that he opened his eyes. 

 

“Nyla?” She nodded.

 

“Some of the older men have mentioned her and I was just wondering what she was really like?” 

 

He sighed and shifted so that he was on his back. Sansa automatically moved to his chest, enjoying his warm around her when he wrapped his arm about her small frame, “Nyla was sweet, smart and a genuine person. She would always mother hen _everyone_ , even father.” Sandor conjured the image of his twelve-year-old sister, dark hair and black eyes, she was tall, taller than Sansa was now and thin as a reed, “She would tend to my and Gregor's bruises after we trained, stupid really they were just bruises. She once tried to train with us, Gregor broke her arm for even thinking it said women belong on their backs with their legs spread wide for a man. She argued with him before he snatched her and crushed her arm.” He shifted again uncomfortable telling the story, “I was able to pull him off but he’s five years older than me, stronger too. That was the first time he broke my nose. When that fucker burned me Nyla demanded that father get a proper Maester in the house. She always got what she wanted.” Sansa smiled, she sounded like Arya. “Gregor killed her when she was twelve.” He didn’t tell her how he’d done it. No one outside of his household knew and he needed to keep it that way.

 

Sansa turned her head to look up at him no tears fell down his face but all the same she felt his sadness. She wondered if her own sister was still alive and felt a pang of sadness from missing her. She propped herself up and her elbow and turned Sandor's face toward her. If she knew someone had hurt Arya, Sansa refused to dwell on it but she had lost enough family. His burn felt bumpy and divited under her fingers, “You’ll kill him one day won't you?”

 

“Aye little bird I will.” he saw no point in lying to her. 

 

“Good.” She pressed a kiss to his lips, “Some people don’t deserve family.”  Sandor smirked. His little wife was turning out to be a wolf after all. 

 

*****

 

The next morning Sansa woke to quiet and cold she heard the men around them snoring. Sandor shifted and she felt his arm around her waist pulling her closer to him, closer to his hardness. She groggily moaned thinking he was still asleep as he was most mornings. “Little Bird.” he rasped in her ear sending shivers down her spine. She cracked open her eyes and see it was still dark but a slight dusting of snow covered the ground. “Seven Hells; I need you.” Heat pooled in her lower belly as he ground his hips against her.

 

“Not here, John is to close.” She wiggled against him. 

 

“Gods woman don’t make it more painful than it already is.” 

 

“It hurts?” She whispered genuinely surprised.

 

“It’s been four weeks, yes it hurts.” He turned and saw John less than 5 feet away,  _ Bugger the man _ ; he thought. He sighed; “I’ll be back.” He kissed her quickly on her temple and peeled off his blanket and cloak. 

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“To that damn stream, I need some cold water.” Sansa was confused but nodded. When he left the encampment Sansa bolted up glad to have worn her boots to sleep. She quietly followed him toward the stream. She saw him taking off his shirt and britches nearly undone. 

 

She was distracted by the breadth of his shoulders and the dip of his spine, she watched as the muscles on his back flexed as he stretched up she didn’t look down and heard the twig snap under her foot. He spun around his britches half unlaced, she could see the line of muscle the created the ‘V’ on his body and the hair just above his manhood; he snatched her and slammed her against a tree and dagger to her throat. “ **Sansa**!” He said before relaxing his shoulders. “You should have not followed me.” 

 

Sansa let go of the breath she had been holding. She had no idea he could move that fast. He sheathed his dagger at his hip. “Bugger the water, I'll fuck you here.” His words sent heat to Sansa’s woman’s place. He reached to her lacing on her britches and pulled them down over her boots as she stepped out of them, Sandor kissed her hard. “I can’t be soft, it's been too long.” She deserved for him to always be gentle with her. For him to always take his time and for him to bring her to multiple peaks. They couldn't do that out in the wilderness. 

 

Sansa nodded and hooked one leg around his hip, inviting him. Sandor slipped his hand down between them and found her woman’s spot. “Wrap both your legs around me.” He ground out Sansa panted and obeyed him feeling the dagger against the soft flesh of her thigh. She crossed her ankles at the small of his back. “Good Girl.” Sansa grabbed his shoulders for support. His rhythm increased and Sansa moaned felt a ball of pressure building.

 

“You like that Little Bird?”

 

“Ye...yes.” She managed. Sandor slipped two fingers inside of her crooking them finding her sensitive patch he knew was there, the ball inside of her tightened and she moaned. Her wetness drenched his fingers. Her need flooded her, she needed him inside of her, filling her.  

 

“You want me?” he stroked the slow-burning fire inside of her.

 

“Yes...Sandor...please.” She begged him. Sandor released himself from his britches using her wetness to lubricate himself. He positioned himself at her entrance. His other hand gripping her ass to steady her. He pressed into her. Sansa’s nails dug into his shoulders as he filled her. Sansa kept her eyes on his stormy gray ones as she gasped. They were soft and open and asking her permission. She knew what he needed, “Please.” She whispered.  

 

Sandor pinned her to the tree with his body, he felt her nails digging into his shoulders. He withdrew and thrust in deep, he captured her mouth as he pounded into her mercilessly. His other hand gripping her other ass cheek squeezing her spreading her wider to let him pound deeper into her soft flesh. 

 

Sansa was lost, she pressed her lips to his twisted ones. She felt his fingers digging into her ass, knowing it would leave bruises and not caring. Sandor hammered into her body, he struck the sensitive patch of nerves deep with her and Sansa cried out. He continued to stroke her spot until she burst; the ball of tension building inside of her exploded. Sansa cried out into his mouth and Sandor drank in her ecstasy. 

 

He growled into her mouth as her walls spasmed against his cock. He thrust into her one final time before releasing his seed. Sandor broke their kiss and pressed his head against her chest. “Seven Hells woman. I told you this would take too long.” Sansa leaned her head back and giggled causing him to shiver. 

 

“I agree. We should never make this trip again.” He slipped out her and gently set her back on the ground. “We still have time before the men get up to get back to camp.” Sansa knew they should get back as soon as possible. She pulled on her britches as Sandor laced up his and went in search of his shirt. 

 

“We should get back before any of the men suspect anything indecent of you.” He teased her. Sandor pulled on his shirt when his head popped out the point of a sword was at his face. “Get the fuck away from my sister.” Robb Stark snarled at him.


	7. CHAPTER 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbs reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie this chapter was probably the hardest to write and went through many many many many many many edits. Hope you guys all enjoy.

“Put it down boy,” Sandor growled, relaxing his arms at his side, readying himself for a fight.

“You just fucked my sister against the tree, I’ll run you through!” Robb roared adjusting his grip on his sword. Sandor didn’t have his sword but that meant nothing to him; he’d taken more men with knives in a bar fight. Sandor was twice as broad and at least a foot taller than the King of the North and twice as mean. Robb eyed him and lifted the sword to point more directly toward Sandor’s jugular. Two other men stood behind Robb, and they drew their swords in defense of their lord’s sister.

 

“Robb!?” Sansa yelled from behind the hound. Sandor silently cursed hoping it would have taken her longer to dress, she ran up thinking to hug her brother, not seeing the sword. Sandor snatched her and dragged her behind him and only then did she did the sword and he heard her sharp intake of breath.

 

“Get my sister.” Robb nodded to one of his men to get her. The man moved to do as he was bid and Sandor turned to block him, bringing Sansa closer to him.

 

“Do not touch her.” He warned the smaller man.

 

“Kill the Dog and take my sister to my mother,” Robb ordered again through clenched teeth. The two men gripped their swords and advanced nervously toward Sandor.   _Why the fuck was she clinging to him?_ Robb wondered.

 

Sansa pulled back on Sandor’s arm, wanting to pull him away from the small confrontation, “What do you think you’re going to do with that, you little cunt?” He snapped at the men.

 

“Robb, stop this!” Sansa shrieked finally finding her voice. Robb still held his sword in his hand but dared not swing it with his sister so close to the enemy; he would hurt her in an effort to kill Clegane.

 

“Get away from my sister, and I’ll let you live.” Sansa heard a rustling to her left and knew her husband’s men would be here in a moment, which meant Robb would be overrun and his men killed. Robb turned his head to the sound and Sandor shoved her further back behind him.

 

Sandor reacted faster than she had ever seen any man move, faster than when he pinned her against the tree. Sandor snatched the sword from the advancing soldier's hand by the hilt, feeling bones crunch between his grip and the sword. “Give that to me you fucking child.” The man screamed in both outrage and pain, he tried to snatch the weapon back, Sandor punched him feeling another gratifying crunch. “Listen to your sister.” He growled.

 

The other soldier raised his sword to defend his King and in a flash Sandor switched the sword he had in his possession to his off hand and deflected the blow from Rob’s other man, feeling the bite of the blade cut into his arm, and snarling he disarmed his opponent with ease. The fluid movement left both swords in the Hound’s hands and red staining his.

 

Two swords pointed at her brother.

 

“Robb please stop,” Sansa said again as Sandor's men crested the hill, none of them in armor but all of them with a sword in his hands. With his sister out of range, Robb reared his arm and struck at Sandor who easily parried to move. Swords clashed, causing sparks to fly where metal met metal, and Sandor threw the young man off of him and sent him backward several feet.

 

“Sandor!” A man shouted from the hill.

 

“Stand down,” he called back.

 

Robb raised his sword again and Sansa shouted; “Robb, lower your sword.” She scrambled back to her spot next to Sandor, knowing it would stop her brother from running Sandor through.

 

“Get _behind_ me Sansa!” Sandor bellowed.

 

She ignored the command,  “Sandor, please.” She touched his arm. He flicked his gray eyes to her then settled them back on Robb. Robb’s flicked to the men standing on the hill; he knew he would be overrun and most likely killed if he tried to run at Clegane one more time.

 

“Touch her and you’re dead, boy.” Sandor lowered the swords but didn’t drop them. Robb lowered his and looked at his sister. He stepped forward and reached for her, but Sandor brought up a sword between them. “I _said_ not to touch her.”

 

“Robb, please listen.” Sansa pleaded with her brother, she didn’t want to test Sandor’s patience on her brother. Robb internally debated; it would be simple to take out the dagger that was stored in his boot and give him a lethal belly wound but then this one man had incapacitated his two men with nothing but strength. _No_ , Robb decided, he wouldn’t fight the hound now. He would have to wait.

 

Turning to his sister, he pleaded for her to understand that he would never allow her to stay with this monster and that he needed to get her away from him. When he had crested the hill and heard the grunts and soft sighs, he had joked with his men that they would come across some farmers, and for a moment when he’d come up the hill, he almost dismissed the pair thinking they were just that. Then he had seen the shock of red hair, his sister’s face contorted in what he knew was pleasure and The Hound’s burned face matching hers. Rage and hate had torn at him as he’d ran toward them.

 

The only thing that has stopped him from bellowing was her giggle their lingering kiss and the way Sansa held The Hounds face in her hands. Sansa wasn’t stupid, she wouldn’t have clung to him if she were in danger, or if she were being forced. Why would she giggle at a man between her legs? That wasn’t the Sansa that had left for Kings Landing all those years ago. Not at all the wonton woman he’s just seen up against a tree. No, Sansa had changed from the sweet gangly girl of fifteen, she was a woman grown now. Robb drew in a deep breath and managed to reign in his temper, barely. “Explain,” he demanded, “Why you are here, with this man and not in King's Landing.”

 

Sansa took a deep breath, “Well Robb…” She hesitated, “Sandor is your Goodbother.”

 

Robb blinked at her. Then he bellowed, “WHAT?! YOU’RE MARRIED TO THIS ... **THIS** ….”

 

“Careful,” Sandor warned.

 

“Yes,” Sansa snapped angry at her brother, “We are married.” when he fell silent again Sansa rushed on, “Joffrey has stripped you of your house, Robb, and made Sandor ‘Lord Stark’. He is taking me home.”

 

Robb stared at her in shock at the news “ **No** , I am the Lord of Winterfell, I am Eddard Stark’s eldest son. He’s a Clegane, he cannot hold Winterfell.”

 

“In the eyes of Joffrey, you are a traitor, nothing more and nothing less,” Sandor said. “We are only pawns to be used against you.”

 

“Fuck you.” Robb spat, “Your boy king started this war by killing my father.” Leveling the sword at him again.

 

“Think before you do that, boy.” He growled at the young King, “I didn’t kill your guards for the sake of my wife, but I’ve not had a good fight in weeks.”

 

“You cannot be King of the North and the Lord of Winterfell, Robb,” Sansa said softly, her voice a melody in the harsh words the men exchanged, “You must focus on one or the other.”

 

Robb turned to his sister, angry, “The Lannisters! They did this to you. Made you marry him to keep you linked to them! To turn you against the North.”

 

“Joffrey did command it.” Sansa agreed, “But I…” She was cut off from further explanation.

 

“They cut off father’s head! Put it on a fucking pike and you let their dog rut between your legs!” he raged at her.

 

Sansa took a step back, shocked tears filling her eyes at Robb’s hurtful words. Sandor dropped all pretenses of civility and raised his balled fist to punch the young king. Sansa grabbed his arm stopping him she wasn’t sure when he’d lost the other sword but she was glad he had. He looked down at her, “No! You don’t know how many more men he has around him, or if his wolf is near.” then after a brief pause added, “And it would be very bad for you to punch a King.”

 

“He…”

 

“I know.” She turned Sandor to face her interrupting him; thinking he was angry with the way Robb had insulted him, calling a dog like Joffrey always did. “I know what he said. You’re **not** a dog.” She cupped his cheeks in her hands again.

 

But Sandor wasn’t upset about that, he had been called worse by better men. But he could not abide the tears in her eyes.

 

Robb watched his sister comfort the Hound. He watched as she put aside her own hurt for her husband’s and winced realizing he had just called his only living sister little better than a whore. “I’m sorry Sansa...it was uncalled for.” Robb said “Forgive me, it has been so long and I was….” they knew what he was thinking, that Sandor had forced himself on her. She doubted Sandor had it in him to do that to anyone.

 

“How far is your camp?” She didn’t accept his apology. His words had cut her deeply and Sandor could feel the anger coming off of her in waves.

 

“About five miles that way.” He said. Then turned to Sandor, “We have much to discuss. Gather your men. I will leave Tarick with you.” The man whose nose was not broken grunted his agreement. “He will take you there. I have to get back to camp.” Sandor only nodded.

 

\-----

 

An hour later, Sandor, who had put on his armor, and Sansa cantered into the camp on Stranger’s back. It was large and stank of humanity. All the same, he lead Stranger to the large tent that he knew would be Robb’s. His body was taunt, his spine was perfectly upright giving him the best view of the camp and potential dangers.

 

Sansa had never seen a battle camp before and was amazed at how many men could fit in such a small space and she supposed it looked a lot like flea bottom. She felt the eyes of the Northerners on her, questioning her. She knew what they must be thinking; how could a daughter of Eddard Stark travel with The Hound a Lannister lackey? She shoved the thoughts away and looked up at her husband. “They’ll not kill you.”

 

“You don’t know that, Little Bird.” He sounded gruff even in his whisper. When they reached the tent Robb resided in, Sandor swung off his horse and pulled Sansa down by her waist. The camp was oddly silent as the rest of his men also dismounted and Robb stepped out of his tent with Catelyn following.

 

“It will be okay.” She tried to reassure her husband again, but his grey eyes still held worry and anger. She turned and saw her mother, and Sandor released her and Catelyn ran to her daughter.

 

“Sansa!” The older woman cried as she pulled her daughter close. Sandor watched as the elder Lady Stark held her daughter as if she were a lost treasure; something she thought she would never see again and he was struck with the sudden softness that his wife and Goodmother had provided in this campground of sharp edges and ruggedness.   

 

Sansa openly sobbed, feeling the love and worry her mother must have been going through. Catelyn rubbed her hands over her daughter’s arms trying to reassure herself that Sansa was really there. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yes.” She smiled hugging her mother back, “I am.”

 

Catelyn looked to Sandor without flinching; she looked him full in the face and he felt the gratitude coming off of her. “Thank you, Clegane. You have brought a most precious gift back to me.” Sandor gripped Stranger’s reigns wondering if Sansa would correct her, or if he would have to.

 

“Mother,” Sansa stepped away from Catelyn and reached out her hand to Sandor. Reluctantly he came closer to her family, wondering why Robb hadn’t told anyone about their earlier conversation, why would the King not at least tell his own mother that her eldest daughter was married.  “Sandor is actually my husband.” Silence met that statement, “And now a Stark.”

 

A cacophony of sound erupted around them. Angry shouts that a Lannister dog could not become a Stark wolf, loyalties were questioned and bitter words were hurled at him and his men. Through it all Sandor remained silent, his eyes never wavering from Robb.

 

“Silence!” Robb bellowed over the sound. “Clegene, Sansa, Mother all of you in my tent now!” Robb ordered. “Umber, Glover. I need you as well.” He called for the men to accompany him. Sandor nodded to John and Allistor to follow him.

 

The tent was large and filled with tables covered in various parchments and maps. One large table sat in the middle several large chairs surrounding it, “Sit.” Robb ordered them. She sat as she was directed but noticed Sandor’s men stood behind him, much like two unknown men standing behind her brother; she shifted uncomfortably at the tension between her husband and brother.

 

“Robb…” She started but Robb held up his hand silencing her and addressed Sandor as well as the Starks side of the table.

 

“Your Boy King has stripped me of my claim to Winterfell and given it to you, a Hound.” Angry grumbling sounded from the two Lords accompanying them. “He forced my sister to marry him.”  

 

Catelyn looked at her daughter in shock. “Is this true Sansa?”

 

“It is true that Sandor has been stripped of his Clegane name and given the Stark name. Joffrey did decree we marry.” She said swords began to be drawn from scabbards.

 

“Stop!” Sansa commanded the men her voice neither loud nor soft. Lord Glover and Umber looked at her strangely, the command in her voice was nothing they had heard from a woman; then sheathed their swords again at Robb’s nod. “Robb, you knew I would be married one day.”

 

“Not to a Lannister.” He snapped.

 

“Our father agreed for me to marry Joffrey!”

 

“He’s Robert’s son, a Baratheon.” Her brother retorted quickly and Sandor snorted.

 

“He’s a monster!” She snapped back glaring at her brother.

 

“You didn’t have to agree to marry him.” He pointed to Sandor. “I’ve heard of him; kills for the sheer pleasure of it, revels in the gore like the fucking dog he’s named after. Father would have wanted someone better for you.” Sansa tensed at his words and glanced at Sandor; he’d relaxed into the backless chair but his hand was resting on his sword.

 

“Robb, he is my **husband**.” Sandor gripped the hilt of his broadsword. He didn’t know what game Robb was playing, but he felt a power exchange happening between the two siblings.

 

“Sansa… I am sorry but he is the enemy.” Robb said to his sister. “He cannot stay here, he is loyal to the Lannisters.” _here here’s_ flew around the Stark’s side of the table.

 

Sandor spoke to Robb for the first time since their arrival. “My loyalty lies with your sister and my men. Not with boy kings whose cunts are in a twist.” he snarled at Robb. Sansa tensed knowing the words would result in more arguing, “Now, are you going to shut your fucking mouth or insult my wife again?” While the men in the tent had no idea what had transpired just an hour earlier, Sandor was still seething with it. “I see you didn’t tell your mother not only about your sister's marriage but the way you greeted her.”

 

He watched the young wolf bristle at his words, “Watch your words Clegane.” Robb warned. The two men eyed each other and Sansa wished they would hit each other and be done with it.

 

She felt it coming before the words left her husbands mouth she tried to tell him, “Don’t.” but the anger in his voice overrode her, leaving her unheard.

 

“What kind of man calls his sister a whore?” He thundered. Sansa’s cheeks burned red, she had not wanted anyone to know about what happened. Lord Umber and Lord Glover gave her sympathetic looks. She set her jaw in a firm line and glared at her brother.

 

Robb snarled, “ _ **You** _made her one. The North will not accept you. You cannot be Lord of Winterfell.”  

 

Sandor stood abruptly, sending his chair backward, “Call her a whore again wolf boy and I’ll gut you!” Sansa grasped his forearm. Robb only smirked, and Sansa realized that he was trying to goad Sandor into trying to kill him.

 

“Sandor, please.” She said then turned to her brother, “Do not call me a whore again Brother, I will not be able to stop my Lord Husband.” Sansa bit her lower lip, she was happy to see her family again, happy they were alive. She was even happy that Lord Umber and Lord Glover were there, but she couldn’t withstand Robb’s anger toward her husband. Sandor, after-all had done nothing to him or to the North.  

 

“Careful my Lady,” Lord Glover said, “That’s treason.”

 

“If I offend you, Lord Glover, then I suggest you go back to the women and babes.” She snarled and turned her fury back on her brother, “I am the one that paid the price for your victories Robb! Me!” She tapped her chest angrily, “Not father, not Arya. **Me**! Robb, I was beat with a sword! I was beat by armored men calling themselves knights wearing white cloaks. I was nearly raped! Was it you who saved me? Did anyone one of you.” She glared at the room, “Help me? Save me? Send a bloody Raven? No, Sandor did.” Her fingernails were digging into her soft palms, the next words out of her mouth were a whisper, “I will not have my husband baited to commit treason, Robb. I thought our Father taught you better.”

 

Only the crackling of the fire sounded in the tent. Robb shifted in his chair, a contemplative look on his face as he eyed his sister. Sandor watched the two lords who didn’t bother trying to hide their astonishment at not only her outburst but her words.

 

Finally, Sandor spoke; “House Clegane exists no more, and its loyalty to House Lannister is gone with it.” Whispers were exchanged between the men that were gathered in the tent. “You know the Starks have no ties with the Lannisters. Not anymore.”

 

“That does not mean the North will accept you.” he repeated, “You will forever be a southerner and an outsider.” There was a hard edge to Robb’s soft voice.

 

“You well know that Sansa is wedded and bedded boy. Nothing you can do about it.”  Robb's nostrils flared and he opened his mouth to argue when Sansa interrupted him.

 

“Joffrey made us bring the sheet to him the morning after. Displayed it for his court to see.”  She said softly, not meeting anyone's eyes.

 

“There’s no honor in that.” Lord Glover said.

 

“Aye, your father wouldn’t have stood for this.” Lord Umber said. “He would have married you to a loyal Northerner.”

 

“Loyalty and honor killed my father.” She snapped.

 

Lord Umber growled, “No honor in this one.” He pointed to Sandor. “No Dog…” Robb cut him off.

 

“Lord Umber,” Robb pierced the man with his ice blue gaze so much like Sansa’s own. The Lord quieted and Robb addressed his sister “Couldn’t you have faked it?” he asked softly realizing he needed to keep the reigns on his temper firmly in hand. Sansa’s eyes filled with tears, she forced them down, now was not the time for them. She felt the strain of every man's judgment in the room, felt the weight of her mother's calculating gaze on her. She wasn’t naive enough to think that this reunion would be easy or even simple. She just wanted Robb to be happy to see that she was still alive not screaming at her for marrying at the demand of a king.

 

“You think we didn’t think of that?” Sandor leaned forward putting one forearm on the table. “That little shit is an expert in torture, and you just heard he beat your sister using his knights as weapons.” Sandor was bellowing and didn’t seem to know it, his men took a knowing step back, and John gently tugged Sansa back in case they came to blows again.  “Any hint of falsehood and it would have meant your sister’s head on a pike next to your father’s. Where the fuck is your honor now?” he directed the last to Lord Umber. "Does you bloody honor mean so much to you that you would rather have your princesses head chopped off than have her married to me?"

 

“At least a Northerner knows what honor means.” Lord Umber spat.

 

“What the fuck does honor mean when you’re dead?! Lord Stark's death should have taught you Northern Lords one thing; honor has no place in a game of thrones. Your sister would have been dead if we didn’t agree to marry!”

 

Lord Umber spat, “So you agreed to marry her out of pity?”

 

“What part of Joffrey being a King have you forgotten? At least with my cloak on her back, I could get her back to Winterfell. More than what you did for her! Any of you _honorable Northern Lords_.”  He sneered at them.

 

“Oh….” Robb said sarcastically, “So you stopped all of the abuse after you married and simply stood by before? At least I have the reason of being at war for not being there to protect her.” Guilt crossed Sandor's eyes. He couldn't have stopped half the things that Joffrey had done to his Little Bird.  

 

Sansa spoke quietly her words were cold and crisp, “He stopped it. As often as he could.” Robb looked down the table at his sister. “You don’t know what it is like there. Anything can get you killed; loyal servant or not. We had to survive Joffrey's tantrums long enough to get away.” Sansa felt the damn break behind her eyes tears slipped down her face again and always the lady she fished out the white linen square she always carried with her and dried her eyes. “Whenever you won a battle Robb, I paid the price," she repeated painfully. Sandor took her hand in his, not wanting her to relive the painful blows and strikes she had suffered. He knew Joffrey had done more to her, things they would eventually talk about but for now, all he wanted to do was keep her horrors at bay.

 

Silence reigned for a full minute before Robb spoke again, “Sansa, I understand why you married him. I do. I’m not happy about you being tied to a Lannister; even if he’s now a Stark by marriage. I cannot undo this marriage,” He paused then addressed Lord Umber, “nor do I do I think I want to. Joffrey thinks to use this to make us angry and stupid. To make me strike out irrationally in the name of honor.” He said.

 

“Thank you Robb.” She said softly drawing his attention back to her.

 

“Robb.” Catelyn gestured to the men around them. “Your sister has endured enough for today. Leave her be.” Robb nodded his agreement.

 

Then the elder Lady Stark was in her element, she ordered hot water and a large barrel for her daughter to be made as crude sort of bath and food to be given to Sandor's men, and lastly for their horses brushed down and feed. Sandor gave the order for John to handle Stranger, and John quietly slipped out of the tent.

 

Sansa stood up from her chair, needing to be away from her brother. War had changed him and she wasn't sure she liked this new Robb. He was harder and meaner, and most of his softness of boyhood was gone and dead on the battlefield. _Is this what battle does to men_? She wondered. She supposed Sandor was much the same way, hard and angry.

 

Catelyn came around to her and took her hands. “Come now, child. They’ll not kill each other now. Right?” Sandor and Robb nodded to her and she allowed herself to be taken to a smaller tent where a small fire had been lit to ward the cold away and warm the bath. Only once she was in the smaller tent did she realize that she left the scrap of linen on the table.

 


	8. CHAPTER 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb and Sandor actually talk, Sansa meets Talisa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update!

Sandor didn’t relax when Catelyn took her daughter from the tent; he felt the two needed some time to talk and re-acquaint themselves with each other. While he and Robb did have much to discuss without bellowing at each other, Sandor rubbed his temples a headache forming behind them. Robb dismissed his other men, and Allistor followed them out at Sandor’s insistence, leaving only the one guard that stood outside the tent flap.

 

The larger man picked up the linen scrap on the table that his wife had left there. A tiny smear of blood was in the middle. He fisted it in his palm. The damn girl had kept it for years. “Isn’t that Sansa’s?” Then Robb saw the tiny red stain, “What's that?”  he asked him as he pulled several wineskins from one of the various trunks about the tent.

 

Sandor looked at the King. Their fur mantled cloaks matched in coloring, and in style, he even noticed the embossed direwolf on the leather crisscrossing his chest. He cleared his throat, finally answering.  “After your father was executed, Joffrey took her to the battlements. Made her look at your father's head and her septa’s. He said he would give her your head.” Robb sat down directly across from him as Sandor smiled, thinking it an ugly twisted image the bone showing on his jaw, “Do you know what that woman said looking right at her father's head? ‘ _ Or maybe he’ll give me yours _ ’. I couldn’t believe it, my little bird actually had fangs. Joffrey ordered Trant to hit her, and he split her lip.” He held the fabric between two fingers, “She almost pushed Joffrey off the battlements I had to stop her; couldn’t see her head on a spike next to her father’s. I cleaned her lip with this and told her to keep it.” 

 

Robb stared at the older man as he focused on the white linen. It was a scrap of fabric,  _ literally nothing _ , but Sansa had clung to it a physical representation of the kindness this man had shown his sister. He felt an uneasy respect for the big man; his job had been to protect Joffrey and while he had done it he’s also saved Sansa.

 

“What else happened in King’s Landing?”  Robb asked. Memories of her screaming and crying echoed in his mind and Sandor fisted his hand around the cloth again. The motion didn’t go unnoticed by Robb and he gave the bigger man time to collect his thoughts. 

 

“There is only so much I can tell you. She will have to tell you some things. I don’t even know if she will want to talk to me about some things.” Robb's nostrils flared again clearly not happy with the answer. Sandor felt a warm furry body rub against his thigh, and glancing down he saw a wolf walking toward Robb, the fur shifting against the wolfs shoulder blades.

 

“Greywind,” Robb called and the direwolf sat at his feet. 

 

“He’s not full grown yet is he?”

 

“No. Tell me about King’s Landing.” Robb repeated, passing him the wineskin and placing four more on the table between them. 

 

Sandor sighed, taking the offered wine after a moment’s pause, then gave the king of the north what he wanted to hear. 

 

He told him about the bread riots and the mental, emotional and physical abuse that he had seen Sansa endure. Each time Sandor would describe an event he would take a long drink from the wineskins and pass it back to Robb. By the time night fell they’d shared three of the four wineskins; “If anyone interfered, that little cunt would have cut off her head.” He gave an account of when Joffrey had her stripped in court and had her beat with a sword, and for that story, he didn’t give the wineskin back, “For your treason.” He added at the end of it, and he glared at Robb who sat listening to the abuse his sister had endured.

 

Sandor drained the third wineskin, “This is shit wine.” He grumbled but picked up the fourth one and uncorked it taking a long draft, “When the Imp walked in and stopped the abuse, Joffrey wanted to kill his own buggering uncle.” Sandor knew his words were starting to slur, but continued anyway, “ I wanted to throttle Joffrey. Break his skinny neck. All I could offer your sister was my fucking  _ white  _ cloak.” He snorted and handed Robb the wineskin, the young King took it and drank from it. He told the young King about how he managed to stop Joffrey from ordering a death sentence on his own uncle and on Sansa alike. “Told him that she was his only link to the North, the only reason that you hadn’t invaded King's Landing was her life. I don’t know if that shit’s true or not, but it saved her life.” Robb took another long draft from the wineskin, processing the information that Sandor had given him.

 

Robb leaned forward, clearly drunk on the four other wineskins they had shared, “Did he really have her beat? By a knight with a sword?” He had always thought of his sister as a child, just a little girl to protect; sweet, naive and innocent. He wondered at the agony his sister must have suffered to see her dreams of knights and kings shattered at the feet of her childhood. They’d been raised in the North where honor was held in the highest regard, rules, and structure was not only the norm but a basis of survival. 

 

“Aye, he did.” He pointed a finger at Robb, “You need to kill that little shit. Cut his head off and put it on a fucking pike. Feed it to that oversized mutt of yours, I don’t care just kill that fucker.” He paused seemingly to think, “Then kill Cersei, that bitch is more evil than her cunt bastard.” 

 

“Bastard?”

 

“You don’t know?” Sandor gave another one of his ugly grins.

 

“I’ve ravings from Stannis, who conveniently would be king if the rumors were true.”

 

“They’re true,” Sandor confirmed.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I was sworn shield to Cercei before Joffrey. Had to stand at her buggering door whenever she fucked her brother. So trust me... I know.”  

 

Robb leaned back against his chair thinking to himself. He could use a man like Clegane.   _ Stark _ , he corrected himself. He knew the man loved his sister, that much was plain after his initial anger had subsided Robb listened to him and the way he talked about his sister, the way he always seemed to have just a hint of a smile on his lips whenever he called her his  _ little bird _ . 

Sandor shook his head, “Why do you want that fucking chair?” pulling the young king from his musings.

 

“To be honest Clegane; I just want to go home. I want my men to go home to their families,” he said, not knowing what made him open up to the older man, maybe it was the alcohol. “I don’t want the Iron Throne, I just want the North back and Arya.” Maybe it was the fact that Clegane had spent most of his life either at war or by the Lannisters, even in his alcohol addled mind he knew that this man sitting in front of him would be useful, he would have information about the enemy.

 

Sandor leaned forward, “Then why the  _ fuck  _ are you fighting? You’ll kill everyone in your path to get what you want, true enough, heard about your battles and how you won them; but then you’ll leave the south in chaos and only more war will happen. You won't be safe. No one will be safe.” 

 

“Winter is coming  _ Lord Stark _ . No southoner will trek up to us when the snow starts to fall. And the South isn’t my concern.” Sandor shifted, uncomfortable with his new title.

 

“You clearly don’t know the stupidity of Joffrey,” he mumbled. “You don’t go to war without a big fucking goal in mind,  _ Your Grace _ .”  Robb suddenly burst out into laughter at the blunt snub from Sandor, who raised his good eyebrow at the outburst. 

 

“This whole damn thing,” Robb answered the unasked question with a wave of his hand, gesturing abstractly. “I’m sitting with my enemy’s henchmen, drinking with him. He stole my title and married my sister, my sweet sister.” More gales of laughter assaulted him, “Not only that but you’re nothing she wanted. Her head so full of stories of knights and princes but she got you... and you’re one ugly fucker. What's worse is that I think I might actually like you Clegane.”  Robb tensed as he realized he’d spoken his thoughts out loud. The hound glared at him, almost looking as if he were ready to throttle the king, but then barked out his own laughter. 

 

“Asshole.” Sandor laughed with the king.

 

****

 

Sansa was relaxed into the wooden barrel when she heard the deep male laughter, and she recognized it as her brother’s laugh and now her husband’s. She relaxed into the tub glad that her brother and husband seemed to be getting along. The water soothed away the lasting pain from Sandor's love bruises and washed away the dirt from her body. She thought back to his crushing hug, hearing and feeling his voice reverberate through her as he had loved her. 

 

Her mother bustled about the small area finding a dress for her daughter, not at all approving of her daughter’s choice of pants. “I cannot _believe_ you have traveled in pants!” She rambled, “I think I have some oils, let me see.” She did. Though it was plain with no scent, Sansa found it a luxury all the same. As they did when she was a child, Catelyn pulled a stool behind her daughter and began washing and oiling her hair. Silence filled the air as her mother worked, both women simply enjoying each others company. 

 

“Lean forward and I will get your back, child.” Sansa did and passed her mother the soapy cloth. Catelyn moved the mass of red curls to scrub away the dirt on her back and gasped. Three thin red scars crisscrossed her back and tens of tiny nicks marred her skin. “Sansa, did your man do this?”

 

“No,” She murmured, cleaning out from under her nails. “Joffrey did, whenever Robb won any battle. That is the price I paid to  _ ‘ensure my loyalty’ _ .”  

 

Catelyn gently washed her back and noted the marks were still raised, “Some are newer than others….What happened?” Her mother asked softly, “After your father died all communication stopped, even from Lord Baelish.” 

 

Sansa took in a deep breath. She had been so happy over the last four weeks, happier than she had been in five years and didn’t relish reliving the bad memories. Sansa nibbled her lower lip deciding what to tell her mother. She told her about the riots and how Sandor had saved her; she explained a few of the marks leaving out the pieces she didn’t want to relive. Sansa ended her tale with the first time she got her moonblood. As she spoke, she realized Sandor had been there for all of it, she remembered seeing the fear and anger cross his eyes when she had first gotten her moonblood.

 

She remembered him taking his time with her that day, not snapping at her as was his usual, making sure she had a bath, and her maid chose only the softest silks for her to wear. She suppressed a giggle as she remembered the man ordering a petrified maid to make sure she had all things soft and to give her whatever she needed. Over time he’d recognized when she stayed in her room more often when all she wanted to do was curl up in the sun and read. He’s started to bring her little treats after a few months, something she’d always thanked him for. She smiled at the memory of his demanding some willow bark tea for her from the maesters. He’d always been there, she realized. Always protecting her and always helping her. 

 

“You were married four weeks ago?” Her mother asked her and Sansa nodded, “And he bedded you that night?” Again Sansa confirmed this for her mother.  She could practically hear her mother thinking, and she reassured her that there was no child to worry about. Seven days after she’d been bedded she’d had a light cycle, which was admittedly abnormal but she figured with the traveling it could disrupt her body’s natural flow.

 

Sansa spent a companionable afternoon with her mother, learning about what Robb’s real story had been, not the misconstrued deeds that filtered down from court. She also learned of Robb’s engagement to a Frey daughter and of another woman who gave her pause, Talisa. “She is beautiful and Robb has… Robb is not thinking.” Catelyn said.

 

As if her mother was summoning her, the young woman that Robb so fancied approached them, her tan skin and dark hair made her stick out among the northoners. She curtsied to her mother then to her, “Lady Sansa. Robb … His grace….told me you were here. I wanted to introduce myself, I’m Talisa.”

 

“Hello Talisa. My mother was telling me you helped with the wounded after the battle at  Oxcross.” Sansa motioned for the other girl to sit and join them. 

 

“I did my Lady, I still help the sisters.” 

 

“You are so brave.” She complimented the lady. “Not that it compares to amputating a man’s leg, but I once set a bone with Maester Luwin.” 

 

“Maybe I could use your help then my lady. I have precious few helping hands in the healer's tent.” Sansa agreed to help her she curtsied to her mother who waved her away. She followed Talisa through the camp and watched how soldiers shifted out of her way.  They entered the makeshift infirmary and Sansa wrinkled her nose. “Don’t worry, I won’t have you cutting off body parts.” 

 

“That’s good, you’d be putting me in a bed next to these men.” She smiled at Talisa. The healer walked through the tent and checked on the men she asked Sansa to help with simple things like spreading salve on wounds she was happy to be useful; it gave her time to get to know the woman her mother was concerned about and form her own opinion. After watching her Sansa found she liked the woman, she was sensible and level headed Robb would have been happy with her should he have been free to choose her. 

 

When they finished it was dark outside, she and Talisa stepped into the cool night air glad to be out of the sick air. “You came in with the big man right? The one the men are calling The Hound?” 

 

“Yes, he’s my husband.” a smile played about her lips, Talisa opened her mouth to ask her something when her mother called her. 

 

“It was very good to meet you Talisa, I should very much like for us to be friends.”  

 

“I would like that very much my lady.”

 

“If you are first name bases with Robb, then you are a first name base with me. Please call me Sansa.” Talisa smiled at the warm reception. 

 

“Thank you, Sansa.” 

 

Sansa stepped away and started to walk with her mother before Catelyn spoke, her voice serious; “There is one thing I should like to discuss with you Sansa.” 

 

“Yes?”

 

“I didn’t want to bring this up earlier with Robb and your husband at each other's throats,  but have you heard anything of your sister? Last we heard she was in the Red Keep with you.” 

 

“No... Arya wasn’t with me.” Sansa turned her head and looked at nothing, “They say she’s dead.” Sansa wanted tears to fall then, she wanted to break down and cry in her mother’s arms but found her eyes dry. She had suffered so much that Sansa secretly thought it would be better if her sister  **was** dead; she wouldn’t have any suffering, no pain, no trials, only the sweet embrace of peace at the Stranger’s side.  

 

Her mother’s words brought her back from her musings; “We have Jamie Lannister in our possession. He was supposed to be traded for you and Arya but Robb has denied the exchange.” Sansa’s eyes widened, she’d not known about it, but she understood the unasked question.  _ What should they do with him _ ?

 

She nibbled her lower lip, she felt a shudder knowing the Kingslayer was close. She had learned the truth from the Measter’s books, the same ones that her father had been killed for and if she understood her father's personal writings correctly then it was the same book that Jon Arryn had died for as well. “So Robb has a political hostage and no idea what do do with him?”

 

“You know the game they play better than anyone here, these people don't respond to honorable demands or even play by the normal rules of war. What would you have us do?”

 

Sansa looked to her mother and thought of Robb; what would they have done? Then she thought of her husband. Sandor would have killed him and left him to rot on the battlefield, one less enemy to deal with. She knew that it would only serve to anger the Lannisters more and Tywin would crush Robb at the first opportunity. She felt anger boiling up inside of her.  _ Joffrey took my father, why shouldn't I take his _ ? Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath she forced herself to go past her hate. She focused on the cold air of the night and on the small sound of snow falling instead of her burning cheeks. Killing the Kingslayer would accomplish nothing. 

 

“Take his sword hand.” She said quietly. “The Kingslayer bases his very being in his hands. Take his sword hand and you break him.” She didn’t know where the brutality came from, but all the same if the decision were up to her she would have taken his hand as soon as possible. 

 

Catelyn stared at her daughter open-mouthed. “Sansa…” she wrung her hands in front of her, not sure what to say to her child. “You’re more lion that wolf now daughter.”

 

Sansa fixed her ice blue eyes on her mother's own Tully ones, “A lone wolf never survives. I became what I needed to to get back home.” 

 

“You think that will break the Lannisters?”

 

“Nothing will break them while Lord Tywin is alive.”

 

“I will discuss it with Robb.” They walked in silence for a while before Catelyn took her daughter’s hands in hers, “I wish your father had listened to me about going to King’s Landing Sansa.” She said suddenly, “But if he hadn’t you wouldn't be the woman you are today. I wish you hadn’t had to suffer what you did.”

 

“I wish I hadn’t asked father to stay.”She smirked at her mother, “What did uncle Benjen say. Wishes are as useless as forgotten dreams.” 

 

Catelyn returned her sad smile, “I am happy for you Sansa, in all of this you have found your man, even if I would have preferred a knight for you.”

 

From behind Sansa, Sandor rumbled,  “Still singing about those shiny cunts?” Sansa turned and placed her finger over his lips, not wanting him to say anything more in front of her Lady Mother. 

“That is my mother, not me or your men.” She felt his hot breath against her finger and smelled the wine on his breath, “How much did you drink with Robb?”

 

“ ‘Nough.” He said, his grey eyes filled with heat as he looked her over, seeing her in a dress for the first time in a moon. Sansa nibbled her lower lip and Sandor leaned down and kissed her. “I didn’t get to take my time with you this morning.” He growled in her ear.  Her breath caught. “I intend on rectifying that now.” He nipped her ear gently, and she felt goosebumps race down her body and back up, her cheeks flaming.

 

“Sand…” He didn’t give her a chance to finish. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. 

 

“Goodnight Goodmother.” He said and made his way to the tent that Robb had erected for them. 

 

The elder Lady Stark sputtered in shock, she knew her daughter was married but she was still a princess. She watched as Sansa smiled against her husband's neck and was reminded when her own husband would love her well into the night; “Goodnight Sandor.” 

 

**** 

 

Sandor dumped Sansa on their makeshift bed, which was heaped with furs and soft; a low fire burned in a metal brazier warming the tent and lighting the room. Sandor unbuckled his sword belt and let it drop unceremoniously to the carpeted ground, the loud thunking sound of it made her prop herself up on her elbows and enjoyed the show of him stripping before her. His armor fell away and then his tunic was stripped from his thick chest. She gazed hungrily at his body; it was heavy with muscle, the roped lines on his stomach made Sansa want to reach out and trace her fingertips along the ridges. 

 

“Take off your dress wife.” He rasped at her.

 

“And deny myself my favorite part?” 

 

“I won’t deny you my cock, you know that.” He pulled her from the bed and pawed at the laces. She grasped his arms and turned him so that the back of his knees hit the bed and he sank down. Sansa pulled the laces in front of her dress, she pulled the dress up and left her shift on. “That too.  **Off** .” 

 

“Britches first,” Sansa demanded.  Sandor looked down at his lap.

 

“I could just pull it out.”

 

“As much as I enjoy the image of you inside of me whilst you’re dressed and I am not, I want to feel skin tonight.” She leaned down kissing him and nipped his lip. Sandor gripped the end of the short shift and pulled it up. She let him, knowing the demanding mood he was in; he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over her head. 

 

His hands rested at the swell of her hips and he pressed a kiss to her belly. Goosebumps rushed over her skin as Sandor dipped his tongue into her bellybutton, sending heat to her woman's place and Sansa moaned. “What are you doing?”

 

“Tasting you.” He rasped, sending more heat flooding her entire body, “All of you.” He lifted her again and laid her on the bed, kneeling in front of her he kissed her stomach and trailed down lower. 

 

“Sandor…” 

 

“Spread your legs.” She did, giving him a little space. Sandor put her legs on his powerful shoulders, she looked down he was so close to her and she tried to wiggle away but his hands gripped her hips. He kissed the inside of her thigh, scratching the delicate skin with his beard, the texture of his lips adding to her fire. Her nipples tightened into hard buds and she gripped the soft furs under her. He kissed her other thigh, then her center. 

 

His tongue slid between her folds, Sansa’s back arched as a moan escaped her, Sandor slid his tongue up circling her bud. She bucked against his mouth and felt him groan into her, his hands tightening to keep her pinned in place and his mouth instantly against her body. Sansa’s mind registered the smooth skin of his face against one thigh and the rigid texture against her other. Her hand slid from the fur to his hair, gripping a fistful of his hair as he devoured her. She felt wave after wave of hot sensations rolled through her body. 

 

He suddenly stopped and Sansa cried out in frustration, “I’m not done yet.” He said. “Spread wider.” He commanded. She followed the order and gave him a little more access, but he impatiently forced her legs apart. One hand slipped from her hip to between her legs, the other gripping her soft thigh. She felt one then two of his long fingers slip into her, “I’ve always wanted to do this to you.” He whispered. “Wanted to fuck you with my tongue and fingers. Make you beg.” She whimpered at his words and he felt her channel tighten around his fingers. He added his thumb, gently rubbing against her clit. She tried to buck to get closer to him, to his fingers, but he kept his pace frustratingly slow. Sansa couldn’t think, she needed more than he was giving her. “Beg Little Bird,  **beg** .” He rasped and Sansa found one word on her lips, “ _ Please _ .” She murmured it again and again still he kept his pace agonizingly slow, delving his fingers deeper into her crooking them slightly. She felt him graze something deep she bucked against his hand she groaned; he stroked it, again and again, making her sob out in frustration. Sandor wanted her beyond panting, beyond sobbing, he wanted her frantic, he kept her on the edge of a precipice and knew it. She rotated her hips seeking release as he slowly circled her clit with the pad of his thumb. She reached down between her legs letting go of his hair, he released her thigh snatching her hand he turned her hand and pressed a kiss to her pulse on the inside of her wrist never stopping his stroking. The sensations were driving her mad it wasn’t enough.

 

“Sandor  **Please** !” He heard the frustration in her voice as she ground her hips against him. Finally, he bent his head down again sucking on her clit releasing her wrist and gripping her thigh again. Her hand tangled in his hair again as she shouted at the contact, his tongue mercilessly lashed her as he moved his fingers in and out of her. He curled them expertly, finding the sensitive patch inside of her. Sansa’s thighs trembled as she felt the tight ball inside of her start to fracture, and a tidal wave of heat and light came crashing down on her. She erupted against his mouth, her thighs gripping the side of his head and a sob passing her lips, one hand in his hair pulling painfully. Sandor sucked her through her climax, forcing her pleasure up higher and higher.  Shakily her thighs relaxed bit by bit, Sandor kissed her inner thigh gently while she came down from her peak.

 

His own need throbbed in his britches, needing to be inside of her. Standing, he unlaced and kicked off his trousers and boots settling between her thighs. “Your cunt tastes like sweet wine.” He kissed her then, letting her taste her essence on his lips. She moaned under him, drawing her knees up and feeling him position himself. He slid into her slick channel.  

 

Their joining lasted into the night, leaving them sated and sleepy. When they finished, Sansa was curled under the furs loving the delicate ache between her thighs and the hard pillow of her husband’s chest. 

 

****

Sandor woke when it was still dark, his bladder driving him from their bed. He disentangled himself from Sansa who had taken to sprawling on him while they slept, she mumbled something incoherent in her sleep and rolled over. He pulled his trousers on and his boots, quietly stepping outside of the tent and went to the edge of the camp. Once he was done he made his way back through camp and came across Robb and his wolf. He nodded silently to his goodbrother, intent on getting back into bed with his warm wife.

 

“Clegane,” Robb called. He turned and raised his good eyebrow in question. 

 

“Aye?”

 

“I know you told me about Kings Landing. But tell me, is she happy?”

 

“You know only she can answer that. But I have seen her smile more in four weeks than I have in five years.” He didn’t know if it was because she was going home or because of him. He liked to think it was because of him. “She has this smile that lights up the whole fucking room.” He groaned, “I sound like some lovesick cunt.”

 

“You’d better be some lovesick cunt.” Robb offered him a small smirk. Snow began to fall from a black sky and Robb looked to the shirtless man. “Answer me truthfully; are you loyal to the Lannisters?”

 

“Told you before, I’m loyal to your sister. A dog will die for you, but never lie to you.” Sandor said simply.

 

After a brief pause, Robb spoke, “She would have made an excellent queen,” he said softly. “She knows how to make better men with just a smile as you said.” He gestured at Sandor, “When we were at Winterfell, she would race me to count the grain stocks before I could, and always corrected me when I got it wrong. Which was all the damn time. She always helped Maester Luwin with the sick, never shying away from any injury. Once I even saw her set a broken bone without so much as a grimace.” he smiled at the larger man. “I remember when Rikon was sick and our Mother was away visiting her father, Sansa just stepped in. She didn’t allow her Septa to take him away from her. She nursed him for a week while his fever raged. She is my only sister left and she’s a gentle soul. Brother... don’t break it.” Robb paused again seemed to get his words in order before speaking again; “I’ll give up my title to Winterfell under the circumstance she is the one in charge. There must always be a true Stark in Winterfell. Sansa is right, I can’t be King of the North and Lord of Winterfell.”

 

Sandor smirked, realizing his Goodbrother had actually called him Brother. Robb was right, Sansa would have been a perfect queen for the seven kingdoms, but she was his queen now and he intended on treating her that way. “Aye Brother, she will be in charge. Likely she’d get frustrated with me anyway.” 

 

Robb laughed, “I imagine she would.”

 

\----

 

The next morning Sansa woke before her husband, she heard the stirring of the camp outside of their tent but didn’t want to move. She lay facing Sandor, with his face relaxed she could see the fine wrinkles starting on his forehead. She could tell he furrowed his brows more often than he should, his eyes had precious little crinkling on the sides, she supposed he didn’t really have that much cause to laugh. Her eyes traveled to his burned side and the skin looked stretched in some places and webbed in others, almost like his skin had started to heal in some places and simply couldn't recover in others. The eye on his burned side drooped and she wondered how he had managed to save his eye. Sansa tried to picture him with both eyebrows and a normal face and couldn’t. 

 

She liked him like this, though she wished that he didn’t have to suffer the pain he did. Sansa felt her chest fill with warmth and felt it spreading in her body and she realized she loved him, she had since he’d cleaned her lip all those years ago. That was the first time he’d saved her life but not the first time he’d offered her comfort. She had only grown to love him more as she discovered more of him as a man and not as the Hound warrior. 

 

Gently she kissed his forehead, and he furrowed his brows but remained asleep as if still not used to the contact. Slipping from the bed she quickly dressed and slid on her boots, she left the tent and made her way to Robb’s. Two guards stood at the entryway, but they let her slip into the structure and into the tension-filled space. Roose Bolton stood in front of the desk that Robb sat at, his arms crossed in front of him. Her mother paced behind Robb and Sansa felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. 

 

“Robb?” she asked. 

 

“This cannot be true,” he said looking up to Lord Bolton. 

 

“We’ve had ravens from White Harbor, Barrowton and the Dreadfort... I’m afraid it is true.” Lord Bolton's voice was deep and clear as he spoke to his king. 

 

“Why ...why would Theon…”

 

“Because the Greyjoys are treasonous whores.” 

 

“My Brothers?”

 

“We’ve heard nothing of them.” 

 

Sansa came around the men to stand next to her mother. Lord Bolton’s eyes landed on her and softened for a fraction of a second before he dragged them back to Robb. She stayed silent as Robb received the report and her mother gave a pained sigh, “But Rodrick is dead.”

She watched Robb take in the news of one of his mentor’s deaths. Her mother shouted, “I told you never trust a Greyjoy!” She turned to her daughter and Sansa could see the tears she was fighting to keep back, the tension in her body causing her mother to vibrate with anger and fear. 

 

“I must go North at once.” Robb stood and rounded the corner of his desk as Sandor came into the tent, his eyes finding Sansa comforting her mother and Roose blocking the young king’s path. He felt Graywind leaning against him, growling softly. Sandor reached down and ran his hand down the back of the Direwolf, and he could feel the vibrations of the wolf’s distrust through his touch. He decided if the wolf distrusted Lord Bolton, then so should he and so should Robb.

 

“There is still a war to win, your Grace.” 

 

“How can I call myself King if I can’t hold my own castle? How can I ask men to follow me if can’t...” he started to shout.

 

Roose cut him off, “You are a King and that means you don’t have to do everything yourself.”

 

“Let me go and talk to Theon…” Catelyn started.

 

“There will be no talk, he’ll die for this.”  Robb snarled.

 

“Let my bastard Ramsay…” Roose offered but Robb cut him off.

 

“No! You.” Robb pointed to Sandor without looking at him. “You will take back Winterfell. It’s your castle now as I recall until I get back.” 

 

“He’s not a Northerner, he doesn’t have the men. My bastard can rally several hundred.”

 

“Why aren’t those men here, Bolton?” Robb snapped. Roose was silent. 

 

“Robb,” Sansa called. He turned to her, his ice blue eyes holding a cold fury she had never seen before, “Give us a hundred men from your forces, Clegane Keep wasn’t a large house and we only have thirty and send Greywind with us. The North will feel better with wolves back.”

 

“Thirty?” Bolton asked, “That’s it?”

 

“The remaining thirty are guarding the small folk relocating to Winterfell,” Sandor said simply. “I’ll take back Winterfell, but my wife is right, I need more men to get it,” then added looking at Lord Bolton, “and hold it.” 

 

“Leave, Lord Bolton.” He commanded the older man. “Send a raven to your bastard to come to us with at least a hundred men to replace the ones I am sending with Lord Stark. Send a raven as well to the Northern lords still in their seats.” Sandor flinched again at the title.

 

“Your Grace, my Bastard can get to Winterfell by the new moon.” 

 

“The new moon is more than a fortnight away,” Sandor said coming closer. “My men can get there in a week if we ride hard.” 

 

“I dismissed you, Bolton.” Robb turned to her, “Sansa….” 

 

“Don’t even think about making me stay, Robb.” She glared at him, “I will go North with my husband. Give me a horse and you know I can beat them there. I’ll stay away from the fighting.” She added the last to sway her brother. 

  
  


Catelyn spoke, “Robb, Clegane’s face is well known. The North will assume he is invading, that the Lannisters are invading. Sansa’s face is just as well known in the North, she must go with him.” The elder Lady Stark turned to Sandor, “Wear our colors, Goodson, that will give you safer passage home.” 

 

Robb turned to Sandor, “Take Greywind and bring me Theon alive, I’ll take his head myself.” Sandor clasped his forearm, “Get those fucking Islanders out of Winterfell Brother.”


	9. CHAPTER 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we meet the Kingslayer

Robb dismissed everyone from his tent as he sat down heavily on his chair. Theon’s betrayal cut him deeply, he’d put faith in a man he’d raised with. He’d assumed carried the same values as him. Putting his head in hands he fought to not tip his desk over. What had Theon been thinking? And Bolton, why had he kept abled bodied men from him? Lord Bolton was a shrewd man, keeping his men at Moat Cailin had been purposeful and deliberate.

 

“Robb.” he looked up to see his mother standing in front of the desk.

 

“What is it now?” His blue eyes piercing her.

 

“Jamie…”

 

“We have Sansa and you said that Ayra wasn’t there. I should just kill him.”

 

“No!” She said, “He’s still a political hostage, worth a lot to the Lannisters. Your sister had an idea.”  Robb waved his hand willing to hear anything, “She suggested you take his sword hand.” Watching his face go from mild irritation to dark humor.

 

“That’s vicious,” he said looking up at his mother.  

 

“It is. Will you do it?”

 

Robb leaned back, thinking about it. Cutting off the Kingslayer’s hand would send a message to the Capitol in the South. Sending the hand back and not the man would send an even louder message. Anything he could do to piss off Tywin Lannister was a boon now that Sansa was back in the North. Tapping his fingers on his leg he called for Clegane,  the man entered a few minutes later buckling his sword belt. “Your Grace?” He asked.

 

“Sit down Clegane, I want to ask you something.” Sandor sat down in front of the desk, leaning back on the chair thinking his question had to do with Sansa and he prepared himself.

 

“I’ve the Kingslayer in my possession.” That wasn’t where Sandor thought this was going, “I want your opinion on what we should do with him.”

 

“..Why?”

 

“Several reasons. You’re Lord Stark now, and you know the Lannisters. You know what will hurt them, and I mean to strike a critical blow against Tywin.”

 

“Kill the fucker and be done with it.” He muttered simply, “One less enemy to deal with.”

 

“Your wife said I should cut off his hand. His sword hand.” Robb leaned back, “What do you think about that?” He watched as the bigger man threw his head back roaring with laughter.

 

He said through the laughter, “Little savage. Aye, that’ll piss Tywin right off. Cersei too. Send his hand back to Joffrey with a fuckin bow on it.”

 

“You think we should keep him too.”

 

“You’d be fuckin stupid not to.” Sandor crossed his arms and watched the young king think; grateful he would never be in the same position to make this decision. He knew this could easily backfire inciting Tywin to march on the North. “Will you do it yourself?”

 

“Thought about that, but no, I’ll let Lord Karstark do it he has the right I think.”

 

“As you say.” Sandor stood up, “Robb,” he addressed him not as 'your Grace' or 'goodbrother' for the first time and it made the young king snap his eyes up to the scarred man, “Watch Bolton.”

 

Robb sighed, “The Boltons are Stark bannermen, he’s pledged a good deal of men to me when we started this campaign.”

 

“Be that as it may, I don’t like the look of him.”

 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Sandor left the king’s tent after leaving the younger man to his thoughts.

 

****

The young king stood in front of the Kingslayer, his wolf shadow stalking behind him. “You’re up.” He commented.

 

“Yes, so hard to sleep through a threatening glare.” Jamie drawled. He looked around and saw the gate was open to his pen. But there would be no escape, as the pen was surrounded by several men, and his heart sped up when he saw The Hound.  Sansa Stark stood next to the huge man, her pretty red hair in a simple braid, she was dressed in a simple traveling gown. The Wolf King had accepted Joffrey offer of a hostage swap! Finally! He could get back to King's Landing, back to Cersei. “I see you finally accepted the hostage exchange. Smart boy. Ahhh **and** I see King Joffrey sent his best man to get me.” He smiled up to Robb. “If you could just untie me, I’m sure the family dog will be happy to escort me home.” He turned to the hound and noticed Sansa’s hand on his chest, stopping the hulking man from coming forward. “Don’t stop him, my lady, the sooner I get out of here the sooner you can be away from that ugly face.” She once again pressed her arm back, staying The Hound.

 

“Get the Kingslayer up, bring him to the middle of camp,” Robb ordered. The Young King turned away and his shadow followed him through the throng of men. An older man with a balding head and straight nose stepped into the pen and untied him. Jamie rolled his shoulders and stretched.

 

“Thanks!” He smiled brightly as he was helped up. “Dog, I’m ready to go home.”

 

“Bet you are,” he growled.

 

“Ahh, but aren't you the same mean bastard. It’s good to see you too.”  The Hound didn’t respond, instead, he took Sansa’s hand and lead her away from him, why would Lady Sansa allow him so near her, let alone lead her anywhere. The old man jerked him forward and started walking toward the center of their camp. “Careful old man! I wouldn’t want to remember your face.” Jamie smiled at the grizzled old man.

 

“You’ll be remembering it,” he returned his smile showing aged yellow teeth through his white beard. Jamie’s path was already cleared by the young king so he had little trouble telling where he was going. He arrived at the small clearing he could see The Hound gripping his sword, he could see Lady Stark and her daughter standing next to each other whispering, and The Hound standing between the Wolf King and Lady Sansa. The pretender King and Clegane were softly talking to each other and laughing. Jaime stopped in his tracks, Clegane never smiled, never laughed. Jamie fought his warrior instinct to fight against the men dragging him to the center of the circle, they would cut him down and he had no way to defend himself.

 

“Come Lannister, sit.” the young king gestured to the lone table with a large piece of linen on top of it. Jamie gave a lopsided grin and sat covering his unease with his customary bravado.

 

“Do you mean to feed me before I leave? So thoughtful, and here I was starting to think that you Northoners didn’t care for me.” The young man leaned on the table, his fists bracing his weight, “But I must insist you feeding the family dog too,” Jaime turned to Clegane, “You _must_ be starving after the trek here and I hear you’re a grumpy old fucker when you don’t eat.”  Jamie gave a stage whisper then winked at The Hound.

 

“Good idea.” The Young King smirked, “But first there is this nasty business of ..what did you call it?”

 

“Hostage exchange.” Jamie supplied.

 

“Ahh yes. If you could place your hands on the table.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Northern tradition,” Robb answered him and sat down on the opposite chair across from Jamie. “You’ll forgive me Kingslayer; but after we were assured by your own sister that your son wouldn’t kill my father, we Northoners can be a little superstitious about vows and promises.”

 

“My son?” Jamie looked up through his dirty blonde hair and into the Starks’ icy blue ones.

 

“Hands on the table Lannister.” The Young King repeated. Jamie did so, making a show of how loud his shackles were. Robb placed his hands on the table too, relaxing him quite a bit. “Now, I want you to swear these words to me, my lady sister and mother, and all these men in front of me. Can you do that Kingslayer? Can you keep this one vow?”

 

“I can try.”

 

“I want you to vow you’ll never seek retribution against my family, my sister, her children or her husband. Vow to never attack Winterfell or Riverrun again. I want you to stay in King’s Landing and guard your son until your last breath. Swear it by blood.” The young King narrowed his eyes at him as someone placed a dagger between the two of them. The older man that had dragged him from his pen stepped up behind him, Jaime shifted uncomfortably in his wooden chair.

 

Jamie smiled again coving his unease about the older man. That was all this young man really wanted? A vow? He was as stupid as his father, “I swear to never seek any form of retribution against you, your family, your sister or your mother and even your sisters’ husband, whomever that might be; and her children. I swear **I** will never again attack Riverrun and never raise a sword against Winterfell. I promise to guard _my nephew_ as I am already in the Kingsguard. I swear this by my blood.”

 

“Good.” Robb picked up the blade and pressed it to his palm, the Kingslayer saw the briefest flash of silver making him turn and look in the direction of the older man. He heard the loud thunk of something embedding itself into the wood, turning he saw an ax handle in the air the head of the weapon embedded in the table. Panic swarmed his brain as he removed his bloody stump from the table Jaime felt agonizing pain racing up his arm and into the shoulder a second he gave a blood-curdling scream realizing his hand was on the other side of the ax.

 

“Lady Talisa. See to our Lord Lannister.” Robb stood up from the table sheathing the dagger, “Put him back in the pen when his wound is cleaned.”

 

****

Jamie was back in his pen when he opened his eyes, his wound sealed and the bleeding staunched, he looked up to see Lady Sansa and The Hound at the gate of his cage again. “What the fuck was that!” He thundered at the two standing before him.

 

Lady Sansa cocked her head to the side, “Do you think that was enough punishment for what his son did to me?”

 

The Hound rumbled his response, “No… but it will have to do, your brother won’t let me kill him.”

 

Lady Sansa’s eyes traveled Jaime’s body from booted foot to his eyes, “I used to think all Ser’s were gallant knights. Smart and kind, and your son; I thought he was simply perfect with his golden hair and sweet face. I thought he would be kind just as you told me he would be.” Jamie wanted to shrink back against her icy stare, surely this wasn't the same girl that had come down to King's Landing all those years ago.

 

Jaime asked her, “Did he not show you kindness?”

 

“One.” She looked up at The Hound, “Just one.” She turned and left the men to speak alone; Jaime noted Clegane as his gray eyes followed the redhead as she made her way back to the main camp.

 

“I’m not leaving am I?” Jamie asked The Hound, the bigger man shook his head, “Why are you even here? Why are you here with her? The Stark was to be traded for me!”

 

“The Young Wolf isn’t as stupid as his father, you’re not going anywhere. **I** am. I’m taking the little bird back home.”

 

“So? Winterfell is a few days from here. Have another man take her. Your loyalty is to the Lannisters. I know Joffrey sent you here to get me.” Jamie spat.

 

“Sandor,” Sansa said from a short distance away.

 

“Sandor? You take her on your way up here? Her sweet words convince you to take care of her? What did she say to you? She loves you? She’ll marry you?” Jamie snorted not believing The Hound would fall for that general fuckery, _so why was he really here_ , Jamie thought. The warrior leaned against a post that made up his pen, the Kingslayer sneered at the hound, “Oh I know! She said,” Jaime raised his voice to emulate a woman's, “Oh no Ser, please please help my brother! I promise I’ll marry you. I promise I’ll give myself to you anytime you want.” Then back in a normal voice, he said, “You’re smarter than that.”

 

The Hound smirked, “Already married her.” Jaime stared at him open-mouthed, “Your son saw to that. Demanded we marry, a _canine_ pairing he called it.” Then Jamie noticed he wasn’t wearing his normal black cloak; it was grey and fur mantled.

 

“Fuck sake you’re a turncloak for _her_?”

 

“House Clegane is dead, Lannister. Your King made me a Stark when he married me to Lady Sansa.” He smiled his ugly smile, showing more teeth than was necessary.

 

“A fucking Stark?” Jaime snarled at him in disbelief.

 

“Don’t worry Kingslayer, some part of you is going home. Think of it as equal treatment of hostages.” The Hound turned from him and started to walk away.

 

“Dog!” He stopped at Jaime’s call, his shoulders tense and Jamie could see the direwolf emblem on his cloak clearly now, the silver stitching in stark contrast the dark gray. “Traitor!” He called after him as Sandor started walking again toward his wife.

 

****

 

Sandor saddled Stranger, securing the straps on him as they prepared to leave. The Kingslayer’s words were still ringing in his head. _Turncloak, traitor._ Maybe the Lannister was right. He tugged on the strap harder than he should have and Stranger flicked his tail. Jaime Lannister should be dead on a battlefield, not sitting in his own piss and shit waiting to die, like a fucking martyr. Sandor reminded himself he had no loyalty to anyone but his wife and now her family. He tugged again and Stranger stepped forward a bit waiting to be away from his master's black mood. He berated himself; he was nothing but a second son of a now non-existing house, he had no idea how to be a lord, how to make decisions affecting several hundred people. He didn’t know anything other than how to kill people, the only thing anyone had ever seen in him. The only thing that he’s ever excelled at was driving a sword through a man, how could he just flip a switch and become a Lord and protector of fucking Winterfell,  he was nothing but a sword for sale playing at a lord and the Lannisters knew it, he knew it, and Sansa knew it. He knew she was only trying to be a dutiful wife as she had been taught all her life, there was no way she actually saw him as anything else but a violent disfigured hound. How could she? Every time he saw her before they married he was usually covered in blood. Even the night the Blackwater burned. 

 

Soft hands grabbed his one and pulled his attention from his foul mood, Sansa held his hand in both of hers looking up at him her big blue eyes pleading with him to talk to her. “I heard what he said.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about this now.” He grumbled.

 

“You’re not a traitor, and you’re not a turncloak.” she persisted.

 

“I am,” He snapped at her, something he’d not done since before their wedding, “You know it damnit.” She flinched and Sandor inwardly cursed himself.

 

“Fine, you’re a turncloak and a traitor to an awful king, who made you do dishonorable things and beat women and starved the capital out of pride. Jaime is no better, he killed the king he was sworn to protect.”

 

“You don’t understand, Clegane was only made a house …”

 

“Because of the Lannisters? _Fuck_ the Lannisters!” She screamed at him and he raised his eyebrow at her for her choice of words. “You don’t owe them anything, you never did!” she jabbed a finger in his chest, “I don’t know why you are allowing some pervert to - to -to…. Ugg!” For the first time in Sansa’s life, words failed her.

 

Sandor snatched her upper arms and brought her close to him “Stop it!” He growled at her, “The Lannister is right. I’m a dog, that’s it. That’s all I’ll ever be.” Sansa narrowed her eyes at him, having none of it.

 

“You’re a gods-be-damned direwolf, Sandor.” She whispered at him. “You’re not a dog, you never have been. If you’re a turncloak then fine if you’re a traitor then good. You don’t need to be loyal to a murdering incestuous family. You need to be loyal to your own.” She didn’t understand, everything he was owed to the Lannisters, even meeting her and being her husband.

 

“Your north will never see me as one of them little bird. You know that.”

 

“Why? Because of your reputation?” He stared down at her, “Sandor this is not the South. The North will accept you if you just let it.”

 

“Sansa…” He couldn’t argue with her, he had no idea how the North would treat him or his men.

 

“Robb accepted you. **I LOVE YOU**!” He stared at her in mute shock, the heat he’d felt in his chest at their wedding raged through him like wildfire.

 

Opened mouthed he demanded, “Again. Say it again woman.”

 

“I love you, you can’t just…” Sandor kissed her into silence. She loved him, his mind seized on that fact. She loved him.

 

When he broke the kiss Sansa eyed him, confused, "I don't understand."

 

“I love you too.” he rasped at her. “Fuck knows I love you the shit out of you.” He kissed her again. Sansa smiled against his lips her eyes fluttered closed as he possessed her mouth, she gave a slight whimper and he groaned appreciatively. Sandor was finally feeling part of something larger than himself, something more than a hired sword when the Kingslayers words yanked him back to his reality. He’d felt the leash in Jaime’s hand for an instant and was angry at himself for not realizing it; decades of enforced loyalty had him questioning everything and it shouldn’t have. Sandor understood in that moment she was his anchor. She always would be.

 

“Seven hells woman, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse.”

 

“My husband’s never said so many stupid things at once.” She glared up at him. “Know this husband, every time a golden lion dies I will have a feast in honor of it and leave a gift for the old gods and the Stranger to drag them to hell.”

 

“You’re a tiny savage, wife.” He smirked down at her.

 

“Wolves don’t have leashes or masters, your collar fell off when we married.” She reminded him. Sandor pulled her closer to him and wrapped her in his cloak.

 

“I’m no good at this honor and loyalty shit, Little Bird.” He said pressing his forehead down to hers. “I’m just good at swinging a sword and killing.”

 

“You cannot say that, Sandor. You saved me countless times from Joffrey, from Trant, even in that alleyway. As far as I am concerned you were the only true knight in King’s Landing.”

 

“I’m not a knight.” He said to her.

 

“You’re _my_ knight.” She said softly to him, he pulled her up crushing her in a bear hug. She felt the scruff of his overgrown beard against her temple, against her cheek and leaned into him. She felt him bury his head in the crook of her neck and try to pull her closer still, felt his heart beat against her and his heat warming her through his ringmail, she kissed his temple on his burned side knowing he couldn't feel it and nuzzled into him. She let him hold her until Robb came up to them, clearing his throat.

 

Reluctantly Sandor put her down but still held her under his cloak as he addressed her brother. “Your men ready?” Sansa heard him ask her husband.

 

“Aye, the lot of them are ready to go. Your men too they seem ready for some action.” Sansa leaned against him taking comfort in his warmth and solidity, she wrapped her arm around his narrow waist giving him a quick hug before excusing herself to go and say goodbye to her mother and Talisa. She found them not far behind Robb, and as she hugged her new friend, Talisa handed her a root.

 

“It will help,” she said vaguely.

 

The root was ugly with what looked like sprouting hairs from tiny nodules, and the root itself was a purplish gray. “For what?” She asked, holding it out by her thumb and forefinger. Talisa and her mother exchanged a conspiratorial look.

 

“You’ve been married almost five weeks….” Catelyn started.

 

“And your moon was short, too short and from what your mother was telling me and very light.”

 

“I’ve been on the road for almost five weeks.” Sansa argued, “That can disrupt it.”

 

“It could…” Talisa admitted. “Tell me, do your breasts hurt at all? Certain smells just not sitting right on the stomach?” Sansa stared at Talisa in frustrated confusion; she well knew the answers to those questions as she had put them to her over dinner the previous night.

 

“Sansa dear,” Her mother took her hands in hers and smiled, “When the sick comes, break off a small piece of the root and eat it. It will taste horrid, but the sick feeling will do away for a while.”

 

“You cannot be serious!” refusing to think of the possibility, it just wasn't possible.

 

‘After five children, Sansa, I know the signs.”

 

“But I bled…” She said staring at the root, “I don’t feel sick…”

 

“That’s not abnormal,” Talisa said helpfully. She hugged Sansa again and kissed her on the temple. Sansa was in a daze after that. She pocketed the ugly root in her skirts and was lead back to where all the men were assembled and in front of her brother. Robb hugged her and kissed her on the forehead, “Safe travels sister.”

 

She wished him safe too and was helped onto her horse. She waited for Sandor to swing up behind her before realizing that she wasn’t on Stranger. She was on a dappled grey thoroughbred, “This is my horse… from Winterfell.” She said absently.

 

“Mother rode her here,” Robb explained, “Wind Dancer is the fastest horse we have.” Sansa nodded to her brother gripping the reins, Greywind circling around Stranger ready to run.

 

“We’ll send a raven to Riverrun when we take back the castle,” Sandor said from what sounded like very far away to Sansa. She felt strangely disassociated from her body as she tapped the mare's sides and followed Sandor’s courser out of the encampment.


	10. CHAPTER 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunate news from Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOSH!!! SO sorry I didn't update last week! :(. Lots of personal stuff happening. Here's a long chapter to make up for it.

For a week they rode hard, rarely resting and barely stopping to make water or to eat, and Greywind was always lurking at the outskirts of the camp. At one point when they broke Sandor made a comment on the tricky way they’d cut off Jaime’s hand, “Thought your brother wouldn’t have it in him.”

 

“The North has to change if we are going to battle the Lannisters, they don’t play by the rules.” She faced him, “Any ounce of honor due to the Lannisters was ended the day they cut off my father's head.”  They spoke no more of it for the remainder of the ride. 

 

Whenever Sandor noticed the wolf didn’t catch a rabbit or some other small animal to eat, he fed him some jerky. Consequently, the huge wolf now knew where he stored the dried meat and was big enough to pull it from his saddlebags. Stranger huffed irritatedly and turned his head to nip at the wolf, who was happily snacking on the last bits of his rations when Sandor returned from relieving himself, “Damn wolf.” He grumbled though he was secretly amused by the giant wolf. Greywind looked up; his white muzzle greasy from the jerky and took a step toward him, Sandor forced himself to stay still as the wolf’s muzzle came to his nose. Feeding the direwolf bits of jerky from a distance was one thing, but up close he realized how large he really was. He watched his nostrils flared inhaling his sent, tentatively the wolf sniffed his face then his shoulders. The wolf's hot breath misted on his face and chest as Sandor held his breath. Hounds he was used to, even a large wolf roaming the Kings woods but a Direwolf was something else altogether, Greywind opened his mouth and for breathless seconds and Sandor tensed for the pain. The wolf licked his maw then his face. Something close to kinship with the wolf some primal bond that connected the two then. The animal's intelligent golden eyes assessing him as not a threat but a friend and pack companion. Sandor reached out and petted the wolf behind his ear, his fingers sinking into the thick dark fur. Greywind turned his head into the scratch and licked him. “Yer going to have to wait until tonight to eat again.” He said to the wolf, Greywind snorted making him chuckle releasing the last of his nervous fear and angst-y energy.

  


He was still petting the wolf when Sansa came back a few minutes later, drinking from her waterskin and went straight to her mare, “Sandor, can I use your dagger?” She sounded distracted and had been acting strangely on their way here, she’d been distracted and had started to refuse rabbit claiming she didn’t enjoy the taste of it. He’d chalked it up to lack of sleep from their hard ride; she was a lady after all and not used to this level of physically demanding activity. Though, he did have to admit she was a better rider than he thought, melding into her horse as he did with Stranger whenever they rode, easily controlling the mare with her thighs and words.

 

“What for?” He asked her and he could hear her digging in her saddlebags behind her horse. The wolf left him then in favor of an interesting smell on the ground.

 

“Oh nevermind; I found mine.”

 

“You have a dagger?” he asked. She raised her hand above her horse’s back so she could show in the tiny knife. “That's not a dagger, woman.”

 

She snorted from behind her mare, “I don’t suppose you’d ever let me have one?” He wouldn’t. There was no point in her having one as long as he was around.

 

Coming around the mare, he watched her cut off a piece of _something_ and pop it into her mouth, she made a sour face as she chewed and swallowed. “What the _hell_ are you eating?” The thing she was holding was purplish and hairy and ugly.

 

“Something Talisa gave me. Don’t worry about it.” She packed up the root in a white cloth and cleaned the knife before placing both back into her saddlebags.

 

“Talisa? Why would she give you that?” He asked.

 

“She said it helps since we're riding so hard and long. I’m not used to it.”  She confirmed his earlier suspicions but as he looked down at the dark circles under her eyes. Instead, he grunted at her then lifted her on to her horse. He rubbed her leg as she settled herself, finding it faster to ride astride than to ride side saddle as her skirts usually required. Thankfully she had had the foresight to pack her pants in her saddlebag and was now wearing them under her dress.

 

Sandor turned and shouted at his company of men, “Get your cocks back in your pants, we’re leaving!” He was glad he was around soldiers; they didn’t complain about the pace or about his gruff attitude, even his wife was growing used to his rude words, hardly blushing at any of them now. He swung up on his horse and followed Graywind through the woods.

 

-

 

Several hours later, they rode into the small courtyard of the Manderly compound. Sansa had insisted that they stop to give the men a rest before they took back Winterfell from the invaders. Sandor swung off his horse and helped Sansa from hers, and she nearly collapsed against him. Cursing, he steadied her against him; he’d ridden too hard for his little woman and now she was too damn tired to even stand up. She sighed and rested her head against his chest. Greywind was at his heels as Manderly men raced up to him, taking his horse in hand and starting to ask him questions. “Why are yours here? What’s your business with the Manderly’s? Did the Lannisters send you?”

Tired, irritated, and hungry, he pinched the bridge of his nose and snarled, “One at a time!” The men stepped back, not expecting his black mood.

 

Wendel Manderly raced up to the group and physically put himself between him and his father's men, “Alright Alright! Unless you want to be cut in two leave him be.” Having ridden with them from Robb’s encampment, he had been in favor of stopping at his home, telling Sandor he would likely gain some of the remaining abled men at the compound to help take Winterfell back. He was older than Sandor and his thin black hair was receding, his mustache appeared to be something he was proud of as it was styled into pointed tips that did not match the frizziness of his beard. “Lord Stark, I apologize.” He dropped into a bow addressing him formally.

 

“Enough of that shit. Get me to your father.” Sandor snapped at him, wanting to be away from the questioning men and needed his wife to get to a bed. Manderly, thankfully, had grown used to his bluntness, gestured for Sandor to follow him. One man reached for Stranger’s reigns, not recognizing the new human the horse reached down and bit the man’s arm at his scream Sandor advised, “He bites.” He placed his hand on the small of Sansa’s back and guided her toward the entrance of the hall, knowing her familiar face would ease these men.

 

She started walking with him then stopped her hand flying to her mouth, “I’ll be in right behind you, I need to go freshen up.” Her hair was in complete disarray from their ride, and she looked pale, almost as if she were sick.

 

“You need to be with me. You’re Lady Stark.” he crossed his arms, “I’ll wait for you.”

 

“And you’re Lord Stark, and they need to see you as such, my Love.” Sandor knew she was referring to Lord Manderly and his household, but he still didn’t like it. He’d already told her he was no good at this sort of political shit. Why was she making him do it alone? “Don’t keep him waiting, he can be very irritable.” She warned, but he snorted in response, “I’ll be right behind you. Just give me a few minutes.” She turned from him and made her way into the to a water barrel next to the stables.

 

“He can wait.” He huffed at her retreating form.

 

“He won’t,” Wendel said. “My father isn’t known for his patience my Lord.” Groaning, Sandor followed the smaller man away from Sansa.

 

What the bloody hell was he supposed to say to this man? _Please, may we stay_? he pulled off his gauntlets and followed the man inside the unimpressively sized castle. Sandor was shown into the small hall where the enormously fat Lord Wyman Manderly sat, his white hair brushed back and out of his face. Fire lit the brazier down the length of the hall, the heat pouring from them making himself self-conscious of his scar. He pulled this hair over his face, covering the evidence of his discomfort. Sandor stood in the middle of the space not wanting to be close to the licking flames. He took what little comfort he felt he deserved from the wolf walking on his left. He clenched and unclenched his fists; he didn’t know how to address a lord unless he was on a battlefield, and even then he just yelled at them until they moved their soft asses out of his way.

 

“Father,” Wendel said giving a slight bow to the older man.

 

“Wendel? Thought you were fighting with King Robb.” His neck wobbled as he spoke.

 

“I was, but that was before Lord Stark…” Wendel gestured helplessly at Sandor.

 

“That isn’t Lord Stark. That's The Hound. Err…” he seemed to be trying to remember Sandor’s old house name before addressing the huge man directly, “Clegane...sworn to the Lannisters. Why are you wearing Stark colors boy? And how did you come across him?” He pointed a chubby finger at Greywind. Clearly, Sandor would have to deal with his black reputation here despite what his little bird thought. “That wolf doesn’t leave our King’s side, not even in battle.” Sandor fought to keep his snort to himself. For a fat lord holed up in a castle, he knew a lot about the Young King.

 

He wanted Sansa here, he wanted her sweet smile and silver tongue. She would have known what to say to this lord and how to get what she wanted from him. He wasn’t so gifted and couldn’t wait for her to come in would make him look weak at best, stupid at worst. He decided being direct was his best course of action, “House Clegane was dissolved when I married Lady Sansa Stark, King Robb sent his wolf with me when I came North.” He answered the questions. “My wife will be here...”

 

Sandor was cut off by the lord's booming voice, “You’re married the beauty of the North?” he laughed, “I don’t believe it. She would never marry the Southern King’s Dog. No, you’re not married to the Stark princess. And,” he leaned forward with considerable effort, “I doubt King Robb would have _loaned_ you his wolf.”

 

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the Lord and through clenched teeth, “If I had killed Robb I wouldn’t travel with a host of his men and his wolf, I would be long dead.”  Sandor pointed out the obvious, “And why would I stop _here_ of all places. No, my men and wife need rest and food.”

 

Manderly snorted, “More likely you found the wolf and a host of runaway men. Captured my son and making him tell me lies.” Greywind started to growl feeding off of Sandor's anger.

 

“Really Father?” Wendel sighed before whispering to Sandor, “This isn’t the first time he’s done this...nothing personal. It can just take him a minute.” It was a novel feeling, Sandor decided, but the Lord didn’t seem to agree with his son’s assessment of him.

 

“Feels fucking personal.” Sandor growled back then turned his attention back to the soft lord on the dais, “I didn’t come here to debate with you,” The Hound snarled,  “Theon Greyjoy has taken Winterfell, surely you’re aware as you’re less than a day’s fucking march from it. I’ve been ordered to take it back.” He snapped. He’d had enough of play at words and he was about to resort back to his battlefield tactics but stopped himself when he thought about what Sansa would say. _Be patient_.  He reached out and felt his fingers rest in the wolf’s thick fur and understood why Robb kept the animal close; the texture of the fur helped him think, helped him from saying something that he would later regret. “My men and wife need food and rest.” He repeated. The older man stroked his thick beard seemingly to think about this request.

 

“Why isn’t The Young Wolf taking back Winterfell himself?” Manderly asked him. Sandor once again successfully held back his irritation; it wouldn’t do to cut down a Lord in his own home, he reminded himself. No matter how irritating. That and Sansa would be rather upset with him.

 

“Is it up to you what the King does?” Sandor growled, “Will you let us stay or no?” He repeated, Greywind leaning into him. He could feel the wolf’s muscles tense, ready to spring, Sandor gripped his fur in his hand staying him.

 

“Father, His Grace ordered Lord Stark to travel and uproot the Ironborn. Lady Sansa is with us. She can confirm all of this.”

 

“His grace should have sent a Raven to me at least. Or _you_ should have.” Lord Manderly dismissed his son entirely.

 

“Robb is at war, he doesn’t have time to scribble every deed he wants done. Bolton should have informed you.” Sandor spat.

 

“I received nothing.” He scoffed, “You’ve no proof you’re not a Lannister spy.”

 

“For fuck's sake.” Sandor’s irritation was finally getting the better of him, “I didn’t ride all the way from King’s fucking Landing to debate with a fat lord in a tiny hall. Why would I stop at this pisshole? Think the Lannisters care about fat Lords hiding in their castles while war is at their doorstep?”

 

“That’s enough!” Lord Manderly screamed, “I’ll not be insulted by the likes of a Dog. Take him to the dungeons. And take his bloody broadsword.”  Greywind snapped at the men who advanced, baring his teeth but was still beside the giant man. The men stopped and looked back to their lord. The wolf bristled his back fur and Sandor the wolf slip through his fingers. The wolf took a step forward lips curving back on his muzzle; showing jagged canine teeth a deep growl coming from his throat.

 

Manderly shrank back against his chair, causing Sandor to break out into his ugly smile. “You’re a Bannermen to the Starks, Manderly. I’m your fucking Lord whether you like it or not.” The wolf took another step toward the useless lord. Let the little bird have her pretty words; this he understood. He let the wolf advance until he was nearly at the fat lord’s dais, “Greywind.” He called the wolf. The wolf’s ears slid back, he hesitated taking another step forward and Sandor wondered for a moment if he would have to physically get the wolf before he actually attacked the fat lord but Greywind backed down from the lord and went back to Sandor’s side. Sandor eyed the man, “I didn’t come here to pick a fight with you. I came here to pick a fight with the Ironborn.” Behind him the doors slammed, everyone looked passed him and to the newcomer bowing their heads slightly.

 

“Lady Sansa.” Sandor turned to see his wife more put together than she had looked in a week, her hair was tamed as if my magic and her face scrubbed clean, “We weren’t expecting you.”

 

Sansa came to his side linking her arm through his, “My Lord Manderly, how nice of you to receive us on such short notice. I trust you've listened to everything my Lord husband has told you?”

 

“He’s not,” Wendel answered before Sandor could.

 

“Oh? Are you doubting the truth of his words?”

 

“You’ll forgive my lady but he’s..”

 

“My husband,” she interrupted him, “and **your** new lord.” Now that she was close he could see the anger clouding her face. Clearly, she’d heard the exchange between himself and Manderly.

 

“Lady Sansa…” The Lord said, surprised she **was** actually present, “He’s really…”

 

She snapped at him. “He’s Lord **Stark** and he is also right; you’re a **Stark** bannerman. The **Starks** are calling upon you. Do your duty as you swore to our house or do you need to be reminded of what breaking faith means to House Stark?” Lord Manderly paled at the long-ago memory clearly embedded in the old man’s memory.

 

“Get Lord Stark what he needs.” Manderly grudgingly ordered. “I’ll tell you what I have heard of the Iron fleet in the North.”

 

*****

 

They were shown to their room and given maps of the surrounding areas from here to Winterfell. Once in the room Sandor bolted the door and heard her voice from behind him, “That went better than expected.”

 

Sandor snorted as he pulled off his armor and flopped to the bed still dressed in his tunic and britches, he himself needed just a few hours of sleep after their days of travel. Sansa followed suit, stripping herself down to her thin shift. She crawled into bed with him and snuggled against his chest, his hands twisted in her hair and twirling a red lock about his fingers.

 

Silence reigned for a few minutes before Sansa repositioned her head against him and her hands gripped his tunic, and she could tell he was almost asleep. His hand in her hair had stilled and his breathing was evening out. She’d been lucky over the last few days. She was able to hide her sickness whenever they broke from riding the horse, able to slip the root into her mouth without anyone noticing, least of all her moody husband. Tonight had been a close call as she’d almost lost her stomach when he pulled her from her horse. With all the chaos of the road, she’d not found a quiet moment to tell him. Now, she supposed, was her chance.

“Sandor?” He sleeply grunted at her, she hooked her leg over his and straddled him, knowing it would wake him and give her his full attention.

 

His hand rose to her hip and he gave her a lusty smile with his eyes still closed, “Can’t wait can you, little bird?”

 

“You’ve been five days without sleep, I _doubt_ anything like that will be happening. But I do want your full attention.” He proved her wrong instantly by grinding his hips against her woman's place, feeling his hardness.

 

“I don’t know, with you on top seems manageable.” he teased her.

 

“Look at me,” brows furrowed he opened his eyes, “I have something important to tell you,” She nibbled her lip and cleared her throat trying to decide how to phrase it.

 

“Out with it wife. Before I change my mind on waiting.” To emphasize his point he gave her a small thrust, and instinctively she gripped him with her thighs.

 

“Stop that!” She play swatted him on the chest, “I’m trying to tell you something very important.”

 

“Tell me after, I’m done waiting.” He pulled off her shift, using the motion to pin her on her back on the bed, “Or during.” Sansa found herself under him, her back pressed into the soft mattress. His lips were hard and demanding against hers, she tried to think her body taking over her mind as he kissed her. She decided she would tell him after, this felt too damn good after five days of little touching and less kissing. One hand fisted in her hair and the other fumbled with his laces and she felt the familiar heat pool between her legs. When he was free, he pressed his member against her belly, letting her feel his desire for her as he pinned her knee down to the mattress. Sandor tested her to see if she was ready for him smirking against her lips when he found how wet she was for him. Her small hands wrapped in his tunic, trying to pull it off of his massive frame.  

 

“Sandor…” She said between kisses, he pressed into her slick channel making a hoarse groan as he did. Sansa gasped as he filled her to the hilt and all coherent thought flying from her mind. She pressed her head back into the pillow as her body accepted him into her, her hands stopped pulling the fabric of his tunic and instead slid under it, clinging to him.

 

He heard his name on her breathy moan making him harder inside of her, his body needed hers, needed to empty itself fully before sleep took him completely. He gently pulled on her hair, exposing her pale neck to him as he surged forward, claiming her again and again. He kissed the pale column until he came to the crook of her neck, nipping her slightly there. Rearing his hips he slid deeply into her again and again, needing the tiny contractions around his cock. He took every gasp and moan from her and added it to his desire.

 

She felt her release building at the end of each stroke, felt him adding to her fire and heat. Sansa groaned at the feel of his lips tracing down her neck and the brief spark of pain when he nipped her shoulder. She rolled her hips under him, timing it with his thrusts and earning a moan from him, “Keep it up and I won’t last long.” he bit out. She wrapped her other leg around him, her heel digging into his cloth covered ass as if begging him to go deeper.

 

He obliged her with hard and fast strokes. She arched under him, moving her body in time with his, her fingernails digging into the skin on his shoulders. He slammed into her body, rolling his hips simultaneously tipping her over the precipice and into a void exploding pleasure. Her inner muscles clenched around him as Sandor took a bouncing nipple into his mouth before slamming into her one final time. He erupted inside of her, stifling his groan around her breast. His hips bucked forward involuntarily and he spent the last of himself inside of her soft body. Taking his lips from her breast, he found her mouth with his, savoring the last of her shuddering contractions around him.

 

When he left her body she was tired and sore, and she gazed at him as he pulled off his tunic and shoved off his britches now stained with evidence of their union. She decided he was the embodiment of the warrior, watching as his muscles rippled under his skin. She bit her lower lip when he stretched upward, unknowingly showing her the divot of his back until he turned and caught her staring at him. “Like what you see, Little Bird?”

 

She debated telling him she thought him one of her seven, then discarded the idea. He didn’t believe in any gods. So she simply smiled up at him, “I do."

 

“Good,” He said climbing back into bed, pulling her close to him.

 

Sansa fell asleep with his arm around her deciding to tell him her secret when they woke.

 

-

 

Hours later when Sandor had woken he’d found her in her usual position one leg hooked around his and her arm thrown carelessly across his chest. His hand still buried in her fiery mane of hair, he kissed her forehead and gently shifted to get up from the bed. She shifted against him moving her leg and letting him get up. Once he was up he pulled on pants, then changed them after seeing the evidence of their love on his pants, he quietly looked over the maps that had been placed in their rooms before they been shown to them.

 

Sansa was still sleeping in their bed, her nude back distracting him more often than it should. He’d memorized the small birthmark in the middle of her back, shaped like a rose and he told himself he would have to pay special attention to it next time she was awake..or maybe sooner. When there was knock at his door she stirred and sleepily looked around for him. He got up from the table he was sitting at walking passed her he traced his fingers on her back to let her know where he was and opened the door, “It’s the middle of the night, what?” He asked.

 

The small man in Lord Manderly’s service looked nervous and took a step back at what Sandor was sure was his awful appearance. “My Lord, the scout that your men sent is back.”

 

“Already?” Sansa asked from the bed, the sheet wrapped around her chest, her hair a tangled snarling mess.

 

“Yes, milady.” He looked relieved to see her.

 

“We will be down shortly,” Sandor said as he shut the door. He watched Sansa slide from the bed and look her for clothing, enjoying the round shape of her ass when she bent picking up her shift, something niggled at the base of his mind, he thought back remembering she wanted to tell him something before he took her. “You said you had something to tell me.” Sansa slid on her plain brown dress, her fingers working the front lacing rapidly. Sandor came to her and stilled her hands, “What is it? You said it was important.”

 

Her ice blue eyes met and held his, nibbling her lip, “The root Talisa gave me wasn’t for riding.” She whispered.

 

Confused, he raised his eyebrow, “And?” gesturing with his hand to continue. 

 

“Do you remember when Joffrey said we had to marry by week’s end as that was the ‘appropriate time’?” he could sense she was nervous, and to calm her he rubbed small circles on the back of her hands with his thumbs.

 

“What of it?” He asked still not understanding. “What does the root have to do with our wedding?”

 

“The root helps with sickness, it keeps it at bay for a few hours.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling that ill?” He demanded upset she would try to brush off any illness she might have. “We would have rested more.”

 

“Because it’s not the kind of sick that can be waited out, my love. Talisa says the sick should pass in a few months.” What the bloody hell was she talking about? What kind of sick lingered in a person for months then disappeared?

 

“Stop being cryptic Sansa. What are you trying to tell me? Are you sick or no?”

 

She wrung her hands in front of her, “I’m not sick, I’m with child,” she whispered.

 

Sandor’s world froze and narrowed in on his small women. His silver eyes boring into her, his hands gripped hers hard as panic and elation warred inside of him. Images of a tiny black-haired boy holding a small wooden sword flooded his mind's eye, a red-haired daughter with his grey eyes playing with puppies and a child's laughter rang in his ears. He didn’t know how to be a father any more than how to be a lord. What if he failed? What if he was as awful as his own father?

 

“Sandor breathe!” Sansa said to him and he sucked in a breath, not realizing he’d stopped. He faltered and sat on the bed with a loud _thunk_. She was there then, forcing him to look up at her, her hands on either side of his face, “Sandor, it will be okay…”

 

“I don’t know anything about being a father.” He rasped at her, “Fucken hell…” It almost too much for him in that instant; Win back Winterfell, govern the North, and be a father and husband. How did Eddard do it, how did any man do it?

 

“I don’t know how to be a mother either,” Sansa said softly, but Sandor knew she was wrong. She would be a perfect mother regardless of her children’s father. Lingering thoughts of what he had said to her the night the black water burned rushed back to him, ‘ _Your sons will be killers someday._ ’ He never thought they would be sons he put in her.

 

“I didn’t think it would happen that fast,” he said breathlessly before reaching out his large hand and splaying it over her still flat tummy. How the hell was he supposed to be a father when all he knew was war and violence would that be all he could teach his son?  ‘ _Your sons will be killers someday._ ’

 

Her soft voice drew him back to the moment, “Me either.” He drew her down in his lap and kissed her, needing to feel her soft lips under his again, needing to remind himself that this beautiful woman was his and she really had just told him she was carrying his child.   _His_ fucking child. Sandor had never thought to be a father, even after he married his little bird, never thought he would have the right to rear a child into adulthood, but she in all her willingness had given him this gift to prove himself better than his past.

 

“I love you.” He whispered after breaking their kiss, “fuck sake woman I love you.”

 

She smiled at him, the same smile that brought light from every corner of the room, “I love you too.”

 

***

 

When they arrived in the main hall, Lord Karstark and John were bickering in the corner over maps and an uncomfortable looking scout was standing to the side a ways away. Lord Manderly was nowhere to be seen. They quieted as Sandor and Sansa approached the tables,

 

“What is the report?” He asked the scout. The small man looked up at him, his nearly white hair bound in a tight bun at the back of his head. When he spoke it sounded as if he’d been coughing for weeks so strained was his voice, then Sandor noticed the thin scar on his neck going from ear to ear.

 

“Over a hundred Ironborn, my Lord. The invader has guards on duty, at least twelve at a time.”

 

“My brothers?” Sansa asked stepping a bit closer to the scout. The scout gave her a sympathetic look.

  
“..I’m sorry, my lady…”

 

“They strung up the boys. Little Bran and Rikon.” Lord Karstark roared, red-faced and spewing spittle from his mouth. Time stopped as cold deeper than any winter she had ever felt penetrated Sansa to a core, the air seemed to leave the room as she gasped for breath; she didn’t remember crumbling, she didn’t remember Sandor catching her in his arms or his curse. She didn’t hear him screaming at Lord Karstark or the ensuing argument. She only pictured her brothers’ faces; Bran laying in his bed, a broken boy and Rikon chasing Arya with a wooden sword. The hard rumble of Sandor’s voice reverberating through her slowly brought her senses back; the smell of leather and earth invaded her senses making her feel safe and secure the feel of strong arms wrapped around her made her cling to him.

 

“Bloody fine well to tell a lady her brothers are gone.” She heard John snap.

 

“We are at war and it’s no place for a woman to be. If she’s going to be here then she’ll have to hear hard news.” Karstark retorted.

 

“Seven hells man; she’s still your fucking lady!” Sandor spat. Sansa opened her eyes and blinked back tears, “Sansa, you don’t need to be here.” He whispered to her.

 

“Yes, I do.” She said through her tears, her heart pounding in her chest, “I need...I need to know what he did to them, why he did it to them.” She sobbed against him, her breathes coming in short hard spasms.

 

“Maybe it wasn’t them.” He whispered, knowing the futileness of the hope, “Did you see their bodies?” He demanded from the scout.

 

“..Theon has them swinging from Winterfell’s entrance.” Sansa let out another sob, burying her face into Sandor as she cried out her pain of the loss, but the scout wasn’t quite finished. “There’s more.” He said in his strangely harsh voice that made Sandor snap his eyes up at the man, demanding he shut his mouth.

 

But Sansa turned her head and through a sob asked, “What else! What else did the traitor do!”

 

“My Lady.. he burned their bodies.”

 

“Enough!” Sandor roared at the men, forcing Sansa back to his chest, “Leave.” He ordered them as he sank down completely to the ground holding his crumpled wife in his arms, cradling her in his crossed legs. The men left, barring entry to anyone else who tried to enter the hall.

 

Sandor shoved back the memories of hot painful fire burning his face and hair away, of the betrayal from his own family covering the crime. He smoothed her hair from her face as she clutched his tunic and cried, “How could he?” she whispered. “How could he kill two little boys? They are just boys! Bran...Bran can’t even walk!” Sandor couldn’t answer her. He himself had ridden down a boy child when he’d been ordered to, so instead, he stayed silent and held her until her sobs became hiccups.

 

He tilted her face to his before speaking; “He will die, my love.” he gave her the only promise he could keep. Carefully he stood her up. “I need you to do exactly as I say, do you understand?” Sandor felt her shoulders shaking under his hands, but he needed her to not think right now. Needed to give her something to do, if not for her then for the sake of their babe, “Sansa!”

 

“Yes…” She forced herself to look up at him.

 

“Find the Maester, get a raven to Robb about your brothers. Do not tell him about the babe, do you understand? **Just** your brothers.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Repeat it back to me.”

 

“Find the Maester, and send a raven to Robb about Bran and Rikon. Nothing else.”

 

“Good, now go.” She closed her eyes taking a steadying breath inhaling his scent to help steady her before she raced around him calling for a servant to help her get the maester's chambers. Sandor called for his scout and men to come back into the room and give him a detailed report as soon as she left.

 

Sansa ran after the scullery maid and burst into the maester’s chambers. The middle-aged man jumped from his seat at her loud entrance, “I need to send a raven!” She demanded and without question, he scrambled to get her parchment, ink and quill.

 

“Where to, my lady?”

 

“Riverrun, my brother is in Riverrun.” She took the parchment and dipped the quill in the ink as the maester ran to the rookery at the back of his chambers. Her notes were short and succinct, she hated how her handwriting looked so pretty on the paper holding such ugly news. She signed her name just as the maester came back into the room. She blew on the paper, drying the ink as quickly as she could. “Send this under the Manderly sigil. Use your house colors but put a red ribbon under the wax.” She handed the paper directly to the robed man. “This leaves now.” She said.

 

“Yes, my lady.” He took the parchment from her and did as she asked. Sansa made her way back to the main hall where she heard yelling.

 

“The men have had less than ten hours to rest.”  Allistor shot back to his Lord.

 

“They are soldiers! They know how to war in these conditions. They **burned** her brothers!” Sandor raged at them.

 

Sansa entered the room unnoticed and went to stand next to the scout that was near the back and out of the line of shouting. She hesitated in asking him, but shook her head in resolve before finally whispering. “Could you tell how long they had been up there?”

 

“I do not know, milady.” He said in his strange voice, “I am truly sorry.” She said her thanks and went to the three yelling men.

 

“Sandor.” He turned to her, forcing the men to do the same when he stopped yelling back at them, “Your men rode here in five days with little sleep or food and without question. Let them have one night.”

 

“Sansa…” he tired to argue, but she held up his hand stopping him.

 

“They are already dead, we cannot save them now.” She whispered, not bothering to fight the tears or the sob that escaped her. She put her hand to her mouth and tried to recomposed herself, “Well rested men fight better. Well fed men fight better. Angry men, tired men, _die_. Robb can’t kill Theon if you lose.”

 

Sandor gave a long drawn breath, but conceded to her angrily, “We leave at dawn.” He snarled at the men behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sneak peek into the next chapter
> 
> WINTERFELL IS NEXT!


	11. CHAPTER 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient with me!!

Under the winter sky, Sandor felt the weight of the broad sword against his back. He felt a familiar calm come over him as he stared at the massive edifice that was Winterfell against the dark sky. Stark banners had been pulled away from the castle the only remaining claim laid to it was two tiny black figures swaying in the archway. He gripped the reigns hearing, his mailed gauntlets turn against the leather. Under him, Stranger stood still the same calm overcoming the beast as his master. He’d left Greywind with the main host and with Sansa, not wanting the direwolf spotted as well as wanting her protected when he wasn’t there.

 

He replayed the information that his scout, Bren as he’d learned his name, had given him. One hundred and twenty-five Ironborn in the castle, twenty servants, twelve guards always on duty. He’d fought through worse odds and against better tacticians than Theon Greyjoy. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the two swinging bodies of the Stark boys were some sort of premonition, something bigger than this stupid spat that had killed them.

 

“Staring at it won't make it any easier,” John said from his side. No, but it made him angry and anger was good for the Hound and bad for his enemies.

 

“Have we heard from the Boltons?” He asked the older man, “Has anyone spotted Ramsay going down to meet with Robb?”

 

“No,” John answered. Sandor gritted his teeth. Something was wrong. He felt it deep in his bones.

 

“How many men do we have?”

 

“Including you? One hundred and sixty.” Sandor grunted, feeling the wind against his face and moving his hair. One hundred and sixty was barely enough to take on the Ironborn.

 

“Find the Boltons.” He turned his horse and galloped back to their hidden camp.

 

*****

 

Sandor found Sansa with Allistor holding her hair from her face as she retched. “There now lass.” He handed her his wineskin, “First few months are the worst.” Sansa cleaned out her mouth and handed him back the wineskin.

 

“Thank you Allistor.” Her voice sounded hoarse and tired. “I think my babe is done tormenting me for now.”

 

“With who his father is,” Allistor snorted, “Not likely.”

 

She stood up from her kneeling position with his help, “Can you make sure the men are resting, I know Sandor won’t want to attack until dawn.” Allistor sketched a short bow and left to do her bidding, and as he passed Sandor he noticed the worried look in the older man’s eye. No one wanted their stubborn lady this close to the battle.

 

“I wish you would have stayed behind at Manderley Hall,” he said coming to her pulling her gently to his chest, she fell against him tracing her fingertips against the studs in his leathered armor.

 

“I can’t help there.” She said

 

“But you’d be safe. You and my son.” His gaze flicked down to her stomach.

 

“And do what? Stare out the window while you and your men fight. I may not be able to swing a sword Sandor but I will not be left by the sidelines either. This is my home. I need to defend it.”

 

“Gods woman.” He frowned at her. “Just… promise to stay out of the fray.”

 

“I will. I promise.”

 

-

 

Dawn approached sooner than he would have liked, John had just reported to Sandor that a flayed man sigil had been spotted heading toward Winterfell, and only about thirty men were tied to the banner. John couldn’t tell him, however, if Ramsay was with them. Sheathing his newly cleaned sword he once again mounted Stranger, the beast seemed to be eager to run and flicked his tail. Sansa walked over to his horse placing her hand on Strangers snout giving him a scratch before looking up at him, “Come back to me in one piece Husband.”

 

“Allistor, stay with her.” He said, bending down and pressing a hard kiss to his wife’s red lips.

 

“Kill them all.” She whispered to him as if she could feel the blood lust rising within him. He was itching for a fight, itched to feel the weight of his sword in his hands and the reverberations through his arm as he cleaved his enemy into two. Tearing himself from her he forced Stranger forward, catering toward Winterfell, Greywind at a trot between himself and John.

 

“The sound of hooves will alert them,” John said.

 

“Aye, it will…” Then a horn sounded in the distance away from both camp and Winterfell, Sandor’s eyes snapped up seeing no one, “Take some men and find out who that horn belongs to. Shield my back.” John kicked the sides of his horse and veered to the side taking a company of twenty men dedicated to following him.

 

***

“Ya hear that?” Theon yelled pacing back and forth on the courtyard wall, sword in hand. “That's the mating call of the Northmen. They want to fuck us!” His men turned to him and started to come closer. Confidence surged through his veins as the horn sounded again, “Well I haven't had a good fuck in weeks! I’m ready for one!” His men laughed, “They say every Iron man is worth a dozen from the mainland.” He pointed at the men in the first row as ‘ _ayes’_ rippled through the crowd. “You think they’re right?”

 

An older man with no hair on his head and a white beard, “Aye.” He sounded surprised to Theon’s ears. Gritting his teeth in annoyance he continued.

 

“We may die today brothers. If we do, we will die bleeding from a hundred wounds with arrows in our necks and spears in our guts. But our war cries will echo through eternity!”  Every dirty face was turned toward him now, “They will sing about the Battle of Winterfell until the Iron Islands have slipped beneath the waves. Every man woman and child will know who we were! When we defeat these pitiful Northmen, Island warriors will scream your names as they descend into battle!”

 

“Aye!” the cry went out.

 

“Mothers will name their sons for you!”

 

“Aye!” the cry of his men became louder and more confident.

 

“Women will think of us with their lovers inside of them!”

 

“Aye!” Laughing and strong voices rang out above Theons voice.

 

“And whoever kills that fucking hornblower will stand in bronze above Pike!” he pounded his chest, “What is dead may never Die!” The men mimicked him with roars echoing their words, “Open the bloody gates!”

 

-

 

The horn blew again and once more the gates opened. Sandor turned Stranger and roared at the men from his position at the helm. The Hound clawed his way up Sandor shoving the man back and forcing the warrior forward. The Hound narrowed his eyes at the nervous men, they need some encouragement; **“Any man dies with a clean sword, I’ll rape his fucking corpse!”** The Hound roared, he kicked Stranger’s side and the well-trained horse broke into a gallop with the others following on horseback and Graywind bolting from his side to the front, his lips pulled back in a full snarl. Men and horses raced passed him, battle screams pulling The Hound from the depths of Sandor Clegane. He unsheathed his sword as the Ironborn poured out from Winterfell’s protective walls. The silence of pre-battle filled him, the only sound penetrating his mind was the pounding of his mount's hooves, his eyes focused on the enemy. The Hound snarled as he dismounted right into the fray of men, slashing his sword through an Ironborn man - cutting him in two. He smiled gleefully as a hot splash of blood rained on his face and metal screamed against metal.

 

The Hound stepped forward between two Ironborn kicking one to the ground and slashing the other, turning he swung his sword down severing the nameless enemies head from his body and stepped over them. Another and another ran to him and fell under his sword.

 

\---

Ramsay Snow threw down the horn seeing, the men finally engage in battle from his vantage point on the hill he and his men were positioned on.“Bow!” He called out to his men, extending his hand. Long slim curved wood was placed in his hand, “Arrow!” He called again. Ramsay raised the bow and knocked the arrow. “Torch.” He called out and a torch was brought to him. Ramsey lit the end of the arrow and aimed. His men followed him, nocking their flaming arrows. “Loose!” The twang of the bows sounded hollow in his ears as he watched the small flaming bolts fall on to the battle below him.

 

\---

The Hound snarled as he ran his sword through another man’s gut, kicking him off his sword, as an arrow sank into the man’s eye and flames erupted from the Ironborns eye socket. He backed away, his raging bloodlust to ice in his veins at the sight and heat of the flames licking out of the man’s eye socket. He heard a wolf howl and the Hound turned and saw a swarm of arrows raining down on the battle, half of them flaming. He thundered a warning to his men before several soldiers were struck down and others threw up their shields.

 

The Hound felt pain his arm, as if time had slowed he looked down and saw the flaming arrow sticking out of his arms. Horror raced to his brain bringing back the small toy knight he’d held when he was six years old, sounds of men screaming fell away replaced by his own panicked screams as a child, the hound of skin popping and charring putting the Hound in a blind panic. Bellowing in pain and terror he gripped the arrow despite the flames and ripped it from his shoulder. His throat closed, his mind focused on the flames licking at the chainmail and leather.  The Hound dropped to the ground bashing his shoulder against the cold ground extinguishing the flames. The Hound came to his knees, holding his burnt arm, the chainmail rubbing painfully against the raw skin.

 

A gurgling scream drew his attention away from his arm. A man had been run through the point of the sword just inches from The Hound’s face, the white-haired man had blocked whatever attacker was coming after him with his own body.  He recognized the man’s long white hair and armor. Rage replaced The Hounds fear as his defender fell to his knees. The Hound rose and finding his sword he met the bald Ironborn man’s eyes and snarled a scream, driving his sword through him. He ripped his sword from the man’s chest and stepped over the bodies, cleaving his weapon through any who got in his way.

 

Spinning around another attacker he struck out slashing one man across the back, another through the gut. The Hound weaved his way through the battlefield leaving a trail of broken and dead men behind him. Another stepped in front of him, nearly as tall as himself, The Hound brought his sword back then swung it forward cleaving the man in two, finally spinning out of the way of the dismembered man's sword. On and on they came to him and on and on they fell at his feet. He reared his sword ready to gut another Ironborn when his victim was pulled to the ground by Greywind, quickly he saw another Ironborn raising his sword to attack the wolf. The Hound adjusted his hold on his sword and threw it over the wolf to the man, it landed in his chest. The Ironborn dropped his sword as he fell to the ground spitting up blood.

 

The Hound walked over the man, his path cleared by Greywind abandoning his half savaged victim. He gripped the handle of his sword and dug it in further to the man’s chest, watching the light fade from his victim's eyes he yanked the sword out. The battlefield held few standing men as he found his prey, already cornered by Greywind; The Hound noticed an arrow sticking out of the wolves flank. He bellowed his order, “ **Find out where those fucking flaming arrows came from! Kill the man that sent them.** ”

 

Theon’s eyes snapped from the direwolf to the Hound then back and forth. The man’s bellow made him shudder then his eyes fell on the Hound, a snarl on his face twisting his already burned skin into a monstrous form. Theon looked around him. All but a precious few men lay on the ground dead or dying. He knew they had lost. He knew he would die when he’d lost his sword in a man and couldn’t retrieve it, then that damned wolf had pinned him to the wall. A bloody maw snapped at his throat, almost as if he remembered the dagger Theon had held to his throat as a pup.

 

Theon had earlier picked up a sword he knew was too big for him but it was better than no weapon at all and it was the only thing keeping the wolf at bay, he swung it between the hound and the Wolf. Theon brought the to heavy sword up to defend himself from the advancing legend, he raised it time to block the Hound’s strike sending reverberations down his arm, nearly making him drop his stolen sword. Theon shoved his too large sword away from him trying to throw off the bigger man. Theon tried to bring the sword up again to attack his opponent, he was met with a harder strike from the others sword, the sound of metal ripping against metal grated in his ears as his sword was ripped from his hands. The Hound’s sword pointing at his belly, “I yield!” he started to yell for mercy but his opponent’s gauntleted hand shot out and wrapped around his neck.

 

The Hound started to squeeze his neck, needing something far more personal than running a sword through the skinny man. His victim's hands hit his Vambrace trying to get him to release his hold. He watched as his face turned to a satisfying red then to a deep scarlet. He could feel his opponent’s heartbeat pounding under his hand. It would be easy, he thought, to kill this small man. The Hound could lay his limp body at his mate’s feet and end her suffering from this man’s hands.

 

Theon hands flew to the huge man's hand futility trying to loosen at least one finger, he felt lightheaded and felt the pressure increase, “Clegane!” The Hound didn’t turn not recognizing the man that had called him. “The King wants him alive!” The Hound squeezed harder watching the red go to a nearly purple. “Clegane!”

 

Fuck oorders,e snarled to himself, the skinny man’s were rolling up in his head showing the whites of his eyes, “ **CLEGANE**!” Inch by inch, he forced himself to release Theon, who crumpled at his feet. For good measure, he kicked the boy, then turned his attention to where the arrows had come from. No one was there. The Hound knelt next to Greywind and gripped the arrow stuck deep in his flank. Pulling it out quickly the wolf turned to snap at him, baring his teeth, but The Hound held up the arrow examining it, red feathers and an ‘X’ carved into the arrowhead. Only one house in the North had that sigil, Greywind snarled bitingly at him but then licked his wound, then turned and bolted up the hill opposite of where they’d run into battle “Bolton.” He growled.

 

“Your men… they rode that way.” the unknown soldier said pointing West. “Followed your order Ser.” The Hound whistled for Stranger and saw the war horse come barrelling at him, and saw his coat was matted with blood. Stranger gnawed at his bit, his eyes still wide and feeding off of the energy that still swarmed the battlefield. Sandor pulled himself up on his horse and kicked Stranger into a gallop, forcing them to go westward, following the wolf and his men.

 

It didn’t take long to catch up. The trail was easy to follow, littered with dead Bolton archers. Stranger pounded on the green slopes between the bodies and spotted Greywind just ahead of him, and his men engaged with the remaining Boltons. One man stood out to the Hound; his crazed smile plastered across his face. He once again slid from Stranger’s saddle and joined the fray of clashing steel and screams, he slashed through the men, shoving his allies out of his way as he focused on his target. Kicking the last man to fall before him off his sword he was to close to Bolton to swing his sword, instead, he raised his gauntleted fist and slammed it into his face, sending him sprawling backward. The fighting ceased around them as men on both sides stopped to look at the confrontation, “Bolton.” He snarled.

 

“My Lord Stark, how good to see you survived the battle.” He said from his prone position. The Hound snarled and swung his sword to end the matter, but the Bolton bastard rolled away from the blade and forced himself to his feet. “Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” He pointed to The Hound’s face, “As well as your prowess in battle.”

The Hound roared and swung his sword again. His opponent stepped back just as the edge of the sword cut the man’s cloak from his chest. Bolton sucked in a breath, then laughed, “Ohh You’re good.”

 

“Finish this the old way, Ramsay.” Karstark barked from the sidelines, himself a bloody mess. “It’s the only way for your house to hold it’s honor.”

 

“You even know what the old way means, Southoner?” Ramsay sneered at the massive man. The Hound didn’t, but it didn’t matter as long as he got to take off his head, “It’s a battle between you and me. **Just** you and me, a ‘winner takes all’, sort of situation.” Every other man pushed themselves away from the combatants forming a semicircle around them.

 

“The fuck are you waiting for?” He swung his word again only to find the smaller man had blocked his blow and drawn his sword.

 

“I already got you once Hound, I would be more than happy to do it again.” The hound reared his sword back swinging it at Bolton’s middle but the bastard was quick and jumped from the swords range.

 

******

 

Sansa turned her horse, stopping the mare as she crested the hills that lay at the foot of Winterfell. When she’d seen the smoke rising in the distance before the sun had even broken the horizon, She had forced Allistor to help her on her horse and raced to the battlefield, his own brown courser having trouble keeping up with her dappled gray.

 

She sucked in a breath at the sight that greeted her; men lay dead and dying, cutthroats ending the misery of those mortally wounded soldiers, others stripping dead men of boots and steel. She exhaled shakily, she’d read about battles, heard stories about them but nothing prepared her for the sight of so many broken men. Gripping the reins of her horse she urged the mare forward, looking for Sandor among the men, for once she didn’t want to see his face. She didn’t want to see the cold stare the dead men were giving her. Cold relief washed over as she didn’t find him.

 

She did find Oliver shouting orders, a nasty wound cut jaggedly down the side of his face, “Get the wounded away from the dead! Any living Ironborn bind and gag as best you can.”  She rode up next to him, her horse startling him into looking up and stop yelling mid-sentence.

 

“Where is he?” She demanded.

 

“He took off after the wolf, my Lady.” He pointed with his sword to the west. Once again she kicked her horse into a gallop, this time leaving Allistor behind. She heard him curse and the pounding of Allistor’s mount behind her. She crested another hill and followed the trail of bodies that littered her path. It took her mere minutes to reach the small group of men. Sansa couldn’t make out the words but saw Sandor dismount Stranger, some of his armor missing and wade into the skirmish. She forced down a scream as she watched him cut through Northmen and throw another to the ground. But then the fighting suddenly stopped then, with her husband in the middle and the other still on the ground.

 

She kicked the sides of her horse but Wind Dancer wouldn’t move, Allistor was gripping her horses' reins, “Move.” She commanded him.

 

“My Lady, don’t distract him.” He was right; her presence would only distract him. Sansa grit her teeth and watched the battle unfold before her. Praying for the first time in years.

__

 

Ramsay struck out at Sandor in a burst of motion, forcing the Hound to move his burned arm to block the blow from his opponent's sword. Another blade appeared in Ramsay’s off hand and he drove it into The Hounds burnt arm, it stuck there the hilt and a few inches of blade immobilizing his arm. He roared in pain, baring his teeth and bringing up his sword and forcing the smaller man back lest he be cleaved in two. The smaller man dodged his every jab and thrust even managing to Parry him once, “Tell me Dog. Does your wife liked to be fucked from the back or does she actually like that ugly face?” He panted. The Hound brought up his foot and kicked his opponent in the chest sending him backway.

 

“Get up Bastard.” The Hound snarled, “Grab your sword and get up.” Ramsay did, snatching his sword and attacking The Hound with overhead strikes. The Hound blocked each one with ease waiting for him to wear himself out, finally his arms fell and the Hound advanced.

 

He struck out at the tired Bolton, Ramsay stepped back and out of reach of the swinging broadsword, he’d backed himself up into a wall of men who rapidly ducked. The Hound followed, rearing his sword then swung it forward leveling it with his opponent's shoulders. The contact of sword meeting flesh fueled him, the reverberations forcing his muscles to continue to work; to continue swinging the sword until the metal met no further resistance. He watched a line of red appear across Ramsay's neck, a look of surprise crossing his face as his head slipped from his shoulders, blood running freely from the wound as Ramsay's body fell to the ground.

 

“Kill them.” He ordered the men surrounding the remaining Boltons, and Greywind licked his lips as if understanding the battle was over. The Hound heard the thunder of hooves and spun ready for another fight, his sword raised above his head until he saw a woman on a gray horse with flaming red hair streaking behind her as she raced to him. She dismounted quickly and ran to him. He dropped his sword after a long second, snapping out of it and caught her in his arms, some base part of his brain understanding she was safety and peace. The Hound inhaled her scent of Sansa, snow, and mate.

 

Her mouth was moving but he couldn’t make out the sounds, let alone the words. She was tugging at his armor, taking off his rerebrace, then the couter, vambrace, then finally gauntlet. Her fingers worked deftly at the knots, brushing his skin every so often. Still in somewhat of a daze, The Hound snatched her chin and made her look up at him. “Little bird.” He found the words through the battle fog of his mind, then bent down to press his forehead to hers. The contact made her fingers stop and a quiet wash over him.

 

Finally, her words penetrated his mind, “Sandor you’re burned.” She said. He knew he was but didn't want to lose contact with her; he needed her to help him stay and not let The Hound take back over.

 

“Don’t...” He ordered when she tried to pull away again. He felt her soft hand against his cheek, against the blood and the grit of battle and leaned into it. Sandor felt The Hound slip back, retreating the dark violent parts of his mind.

 

“It’s over my love. The battle is over.” She whispered. He finally released her, trying to wipe the red and black that now smudged her porcelain skin, only to make it worse.

 

“Lord Stark,” he thought it was Lord Karstark, Sandor reluctantly turned from his wife, still holding her face, and saw the carnage behind him. He didn’t want her to see the blood spilling onto the green ground. He wanted to protect her from it all but knew she must have already seen the carnage surrounding the entryway of her home. He glanced behind her and saw Allistor standing a few paces back, letting the couple have their private moment.

 

“Go with Allistor and get into the castle. Get your brothers down.” He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to feel her soft lips against his but the line between sex and violence was too close this soon after battle. So instead, he gripped her hands in his. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”  She gently pulled her hands from his to do his bidding, with Greywind following her. He watched her mount her horse and race over the green hill and disappear before taking in the report of the battle. He ripped out the dagger in his arm, feeling the blood flow freely. He tied a makeshift tourniquet made from his own tunic around it as best as he could, listening to Lord Karstark as he gave him the report on their dead and wounded.

 

____

 

Sansa and her mare picked their way through the strewn bodies and survivors, and she saw some bodies being lifted on makeshift stretchers and laid down respectfully in the courtyard. She scanned the bodies looking for Theon and was glad when she didn’t find him. She wanted him alive, she wanted him to pay the price for betrayal.

 

The Northern men and Clegane men stopped what they were doing as she passed them to give her slight nods of respect as she rode by. When she reached the gate she saw two burnt bodies swinging from the archway. Her heart stopped in her chest. How could Theon string up her brothers, boys he was raised next to? She felt the tears slip down her face, unable to stop them, she turned to the nearest man who was still holding his slight bow. “What is your name?” She asked.

 

“Willis, Milady.”

 

“Willis, cut down my brothers, bring them to the Godswood.” She said and rode into Winterfell. She was greeted by a few men and maids to whom she gave them orders to remove everything that was stamped with the Grayjoy sigil and burn it, she ordered all the bed sheets changed and everyone available to assist in the courtyard and the main all. Finally, she ordered the Maester to be brought to her.

 

She had made her way to the main hall by the time Maester Luwin had found her.

 

“Lady Sansa.” He whispered pulling her in for a tight hug. “The seven be good you’ve made it here alive.” Maester Luwin smelled like she remembered; oils and parchment and ink. Memories of her childhood surfaced; her throwing a paper ball at Bran as he worked on some lesson or another from the Maester and his stupid toothy smile. The memory broke the fragile tether she had on her grief and she crumpled into the older man, sobbing into his robbed arms.

 

“How could he?” She whispered over and over again, still searching for an answer to the unanswerable.

 

“He was never a Stark my Lady, honor is not a code the Ironborn understand.” It was the only explanation he could offer her. “You need to be Lady Stark now. You need to put aside your grief.. there will be time for that later. Right now you need to order and direct these men. You need to be the _Lady of Winterfell_.” She nodded and dried her tears and forced herself to put aside her emotions.

 

Sansa was with the Maester for the rest of the day, directing where to place the dead allies and enemies. When Theon was at last brought in front of her she saw he was bloody, his right eyes swollen shut, but that’s not what caught her attention, She focused on the dark nearly black bruises on his neck. Willis and another man forced him down to his knees in front of her, and she stepped forward and used two fingers to move his head to expose the bruises. “How’d you get this?”

 

His voice was raspy and tight, “The Hound.”

 

“Count yourself lucky, my brother wants to cut your head off himself, and it’s the only reason you still breathe now.”

 

“Sansa…”  She glared at him.

 

“ ** _Don’t_ ** **speak to me**.” She balled her fists at her sides, “Take him to the dungeons.” She ordered Willis. “Chain him to the wall and strip him of his armor.”

 

****

Sandor stood next to the gurney holding John. The chest wound he’d sustained killed him instantly, he’d been told. Blood had trickled out of his mouth, staining his white beard and odd pinkish color. He shoved down the feelings of grief and anger; John would have laughed in his face if he cried over his death, “Put him in the Sept.” He said to the men holding the gurney. “Get the Maester to paint the stones.” He turned his attention to Lord Karstark, “How many Ironborn are left?”

 

“Twenty. including Theon.”

 

“And the Boltons?”

 

“Everyone that was with the bastard is dead.”

 

“Send a scout to find out where the force the King requested is. Send Bren to watch Moat Cailin.”  Karstark left to do as he was bid, leaving Sandor alone in the courtyard. He looked around the space. Stark banners blew slightly in the wind, and he heard yelling of men and the screams of injured men. Sandor followed the sounds of the pained screams, knowing he himself needed medical attention.

 

The sounds brought him to the main hall were injured men were laying on tables and on clean rushes. The Maester was running back and forth with kitchen maids, providing clean and boiled water. He found his wife standing next to a man laying on his back on a plain wooden table, his shoulder hung at a strange angle and Sandor recognized the shoulder was dislocated “What’s your name?” She asked him.

 

“Reben.” He said.

 

“Reben, what house do you fight for?” She asked Reben as another woman he didn’t know grasped his arm straightening it he hissed in pain. Sansa was holding his hand as the woman assessed the best way to set it.

 

“House Locke.” He answered, quickly the unknown woman rotated the arm and pressed the arm up. Sandor heard the audible _pop_ from where he stood across the room. To the man’s credit, he only screamed through clenched teeth.

 

“Lucky House Locke.” She smiled down at him. “Thank you Miranda.” the unknown woman gave her a short smile then turned to the next man who needed her attention. “You should rest Reben. There’s ale being brought up.”

 

“Thank you, my lady.” He said sitting up. “I’d rather help with the dead.” She nodded and told him if his arm dislocated again to see Miranda immediately.  

 

She turned and Sandor saw her splattered in blood, the smudges he’d left on her face still there. He was surprised to see how well she was holding herself together after the battle; from most stories he’d heard, Ladies usually crumpled at the sight of broken bones and stab wounds. Sandor felt a stupid surge of pride that his little bird wasn’t as delicate as a glass flower. She wasn’t setting any bones or sewing up men’s guts but she wasn’t afraid to get to get close to the wounded men and give them a draft of poppy or even wipe their brow as they slept. He made his way to her, carefully avoiding the men on the ground sleeping off the pain of their injuries.

 

Miranda stopped him, “Sit down for me ser.” She gestured to a bench on the far side of the hall. “Lady Sansa, please get the burn salves.” He allowed himself to be ushered to the bench before stripping off what was left of his armor. Sansa came to them with the jar of yellow salve in her hands. “Thank you, M’Lady...if you could …”

 

Sansa interrupted her, “Miranda, I’m sorry he’s my husband. I can do this.”

 

“Oh, M’Lord.” She said bobbing short curtsy, “Are you quite sure M’Lady I can fix him up right quick.”

 

“I’m sure I can spread some salve,” She gave a weak smile, “You’ve other men who need you now.” The woman nodded then pointed to the cloth on the table behind Sandor.

 

“Clean needles and silk thread your ladyship. Wash everything out with that wine first. And **SALLY**!” she bellowed over the din, a tiny slip of a girl ran up to her, “Stay here with her Ladyship, get whatever she needs, don’t leave her side until I come to collect you.”  The small girl nodded to Miranda and set her attention to Sansa.

 

While she busied herself with washing her hands, Sandor wanted to pull Sansa close and hug her, wanted to drag her to a bath and love her until she sobbed with joy, he wanted to fill the pain he knew she was covering with her busy work. She laid a hand on his arm, “Tell me.” For a moment he thought she was asking him about what he had just been thinking, then realized that she meant Ramsay.

 

“He shot the arrows,” he said as he winced, taking off his ruined tunic and tossing it with his boiled leather and chainmail. “Fucker used fire.” He watched as her eyes traveled his abdomen and chest, doubtless checking him for more injuries. He didn’t miss the heat that flashed in her eyes despite their circumstances, “Just a tiny nick on my neck.” he smirked at her. Sansa blushed and handed him the bit she found among the needles and thread.

 

“Sally, please go and grab Lord Stark some wine for the cold cellar. The one with black wax on the top.” The girl ran to do as she was told. “You have the arrow wound and the dagger. I need to close up the one from the dagger the arrow…”

 

Sandor looked at his arm, “It cauterized, no wonder the bitch hurt so bad.”

 

“I can get you some Milk of the Poppy.”

 

“Piss on that.” He snorted, “You can’t be any worse than the bullshit Maesters Pycelle has working for him.”

 

“Bite down.” She said, urging the bit into his mouth gently, “I’ll try to be fast, grab something.” Without giving him further warning, she poured the wine over his burn. Sandor gripped her hip, squeezing it painfully as his head tipped forward and gave a muffled moan of pain. She threaded the needed with the silk finding comfort in the simple familiar action, “I’ll have to sew it up. Are you sure you don’t want the milk?”  she took the bit from his mouth.

 

“Have you ever done this before little bird?”

 

“No, but I’ve watched Miranda and it can’t be that much different from fabric.” She offered him a smile when he snorted.

 

Sally returned with the bottle and handed it open to Sandor. He spat out his bit. “Thank you, little one.” She gave him a toothy grin. He drank deeply from the bottle. The wine was one of his favorites.

 

“Are you ready?” She asked him. He looked down at his arm then back at her. He put the bottle down next to him.

 

“Aye.” He put the bit back in his mouth and gripped her hip again. She proved surprisingly apt at it once she got past the feeling of his skin popping every time she pierced him. A grimace remained on her face as she did the task. The pain was just as intense as he’d expected and Sandor couldn’t stop the painful grunts coming from his throat. His shoulders only relaxed when she pulled the last stitch through.

 

“Almost done.” She cleaned her hands again, washing off blood before she scooped out the salve, spreading it across her hands and then rubbed it on his burn. Sandor roared at the pain against his raw skin. His burn was more extensive than he thought, ranging from his shoulder to just below his elbow. Sansa moved quickly, covering his arm in the pain-numbing salve and wrapping the area in clean cotton. “Seven hells woman.” He panted as she took the bit from him and drank more wine.

 

“I’ll need to apply it every few hours. The salve should help with the pain. You’ll scar again.” Sandor found that it was already cooling the heat from the burn and making the pain far more tolerable.

 

“Does that bother you? Another burn scar?”

 

She looked at him incredulously, “Sandor, the only thing I will ever hate about your scars is the pain you endured getting them. I told you the North is different; your scars here won't define you.” He supposed she was right. Sally, the little girl, hadn’t run from him screaming like small children usually did. He saluted her with his wine bottle.

 

“To your Northern views, wife.”

 

In the next few hours Miranda, Sansa, and Maester Luwin patched up the injured. Sandor found himself busy with the dead. He ordered the enemies burned and his fallen men brought into the sept and would have to speak with Maester Luwin about what do with them from there.

 

\---

 

_A few weeks later:_

 

The day they’d taken the castle back, Sansa sent word to Riverrun of their victory and had just received a response back telling them to keep Theon in their custody until after the wedding of her Tully uncle.

 

“When is the wedding?” Sandor asked, leaning back against his chair in the main hall, clad in a thick black tunic and wool britches. His armor had been beyond repair after the battle, or at least that’s what the castle blacksmith had told him. He secretly thought Sansa may have ordered them to make something new for him.

 

“A week from now. Rob also says he married Talisa.” her lips curving, “He says he has to go and beg for forgiveness from Walder Frey.”

 

“I don’t envy that job.” His eyes traveled his wife. She was wearing black for her brothers, her dress fitting her snuggly. The slight V that exposed her breasts looked tight, forcing her chest together or maybe she was just bigger. After all, Lady Tyrell had made the dresses for her and the Tyrell woman wasn’t exactly modest. His eyes traveled lower, a small bump had started showing on her lower belly, she’d been sick more often than not since they retook the castle, every morning he'd been pulling her hair from her face as she retched, nothing seemed to help. Not bread before sleeping, or right as she woke. She'd all but demanded Rabbit be cooked outside of the castle kitchen where the smells couldn't filter through the halls.

 

Thinking back to this morning when she had been changing his bandage on his burned arm, which was healing better than he expected, he amazed her by still retaining all feeling in his upper arm. When she finished he’d dragged her back to bed, needing her soft body under his. His mind replayed this morning and he stiffened again thinking about her soft moans and sighs.

 

“Are you listening?” She asked him. His eyes flickered back up to her face.

 

He gave her a wolfish smiled, “Not at all.” he reached down and scratched Greywind’s ears. The wolf, who had been happily chewing on some kind of bone, looked up at him with amber eyes, his tongue lolled out and he started to pant. Sandor would never admit it out loud, but he liked the wolf, and he liked having the animal sitting at his feet whenever it was too cold to be outside. He even enjoyed hunting with the damn animal and would be hard-pressed to let him go when Robb came to claim him.

 

“Talisa is apparently already with child.”  She handed him the scroll, “Seems Robb couldn’t wait until he was married.”  He pulled her into his lap and kissed her soundly. “There’s more…”

 

“There always is.”

 

“The Kingslayer escaped.”

 

Sandor snorted, “Of course he did.”


	12. CHAPTER 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAHHHHHHHH OMG! Only a few more days until the final season...I'M NOT READY!!!! 
> 
> I'M NOT READY
> 
> Heres some SANSAN

Three weeks later:

 

Sandor let the scroll in his hands roll back in on itself. He’d sent a letter to Kings Landing letting the King know he’d successfully taken Winterfell and that his wife was already pregnant. He also gave an account of the Boltons attack on him and his men. He expected a smart retort back, expected something asinine and horrific from the little prick but not what he received. He breathed in the cold air through his nose and closed his eyes to the courtyard below. The first snows had fallen driving many people back into their homes and only the most important news was sent North. He heard Greywind pacing back and forth in the courtyard snapping at anyone who came to close but not willing to run outside of the fort itself. The scroll had a tiny lion insignia on the bottom with the Imps signature. 

 

Robb Stark was dead. 

 

The letter told him the Freys had killed him, his army had been massacred, what remained had sworn fealty to King Joffrey and he had officially been named Warden of the North. He’d only told Maester Luwin to send a scroll back with one word on it:  _ Bolton?  _ The imp would understand. They’d never received any news on the Bolton’s, no further attack only a request to return Ramsay's body to his ancestral home which Sansa had granted, begrudgingly. 

 

Something deeper than rage gripped him, it was horrific enough that Walder Frey had killed Robb and his pregnant wife under his roof where he had broke bread with the King, he didn’t need a description of what had been done with the bodies. He opened the note again and read in Joffrey's writing, “ _ Tell Sansa I have the head I promised her _ .” 

 

The war of the Kings was over Stannis was dead or lost to the wilds, Renly was dead, and now Robb. Sandor had sent an inquiry with Allistor across the narrow sea to see if the rumors were true about the Dragon Queen. Roiling disgust settled in his stomach as he remembered the threat from the ramparts all those years ago when his little bird was just a girl. When she started to show her teeth, “ _ Tell Sansa I have the head I promised her _ .” 

 

He wondered if the Dragon Queen would be any fairer to her people than Joffrey or any better than her mad fucking father. He shifted under his great cloak grateful for the fur lining. Sansa was still sleeping in their chambers, sated and exhausted she rarely rose before the 9th mark of the morning now. He was grateful for that too, he had time to figure out how to tell her, her only living legitimate brother was dead. “My Lord,” an old voice pulled him from his musing, Sandor found himself growing used to being called a lord and didn’t snap at people anymore for calling him such, “We’ve another raven this morning.” 

 

“From where?” He took the proffered scroll from the old man's hands.

 

“Castle Black.” 

 

“Jon?” The Maester shrugged, he glanced down and saw the black seal unbroken. He snapped it and unfurled the small parchment. It only had one word on it,  _ whitewalkers _ . Jon’s mark was at the bottom with the title of Lord Commander. 

 

“What in the seven hells is a whitewalker?” He asked the Maester. 

 

“A whitewalker?” Sansa’s voice sounded from behind him, turning he saw dark smudges under her eyes. 

 

“What are doing out of bed so early?” Sandor fussed at her.

 

“It’s a very big and lonely bed without you Husband.” She gestured to the scroll in his hand, “They are monsters to keep kids in bed. A fable. My father said they haven’t been around in thousands of years.” Sandor handed her the scroll from Castle Black.

 

“Why would your brother send this?” Sansa took the note and unrolled it. 

 

“If Jon sent this then he thinks saw one.” She answered softly. “Jon doesn’t lie.”

 

“My Lady,” Maester Luwin cleared his throat. “We could write back, ask for clarification.” 

 

“Please do, Winterfell is not the closest to the wall but we are the largest keep, people will run here if they think the walkers have come back.” The robed man nodded and left his Lord and Lady. “My father used to stand here when he needed to think or watch his sons practice.” She said coming to stand next to him. Sandor snorted, of course, he did, “You received another scroll?” She said reaching for it. 

 

Sandor pulled it from her reach, “Let’s go back inside and I will tell you.” 

 

“Did Brienne catch Jamie?”

 

“Just come inside with me.” When they got into their chambers a few minutes later he made her sit in front of the fire. Taking both of her hands in his he said softly, “The note isn’t from Brianne, it’s from King’s Landing.”

 

“King’s Landing?”

 

“Tyrion wrote to me, Sansa...” He bowed his head not wanting to tell her, when he looked back at her he spoke softly, “Robb is dead.” 

 

She sat very still she was seemingly unconscious of the tears welling up in her blue eyes. 

 

“My mother?” She whispered. 

 

“They killed everyone Little Bird, everyone.” Sansa felt her heart shatter, her brother was dead, her mother was dead, everyone was dead. 

 

“Who?” She choked out angrily through the tears, “You said  _ they  _ killed everyone. Who are  **_they_ ** ?”

 

“The Freys.” She gripped his hands her fingernails digging into them, he watched as her emotions played out on her face, settling on grief and anger. “I’m sorry Sansa.” he knew she couldn’t talk he wouldn’t make her. Instead, he gathered her in his arms and let her cry against him. 

 

2 weeks later: 

 

Sansa rushed to the chamberpot and retched what was left of her dinner. She was grateful Sandor was in the habit of waking early. Even more grateful he’d simply cuddled her these last two weeks letting her process the news his hands nearly almost always resting protectively against her belly bump. The day she’d learned about Robb she’d sent two ravens, one the Freys demanding her brothers and mothers remains. And one to Jon promising him more recruits if he came to Winterfell. Both were swiftly answered. The Freys had dumped her family in the river telling her she was welcome to fish them out should she wish and Jon was on his way. 

 

She knelt in front of the chamberpot as her maid entered the room, “Milady.” she said helping Sansa to her feet, “You’re sure you don’t want the Maester to help with the sick. He helped your lady mother with little Rikon.”

 

“I’m sure.” She rubbed her stomach, still unused to the feeling of a little life inside of her. She wanted to feel every ounce of pain and burden this little baby could give her, a constant reminder of hope and life against the death and sadness that had ruled her for such a long time. Her maid helped her dress in a loose gown, and forgoing her corset she slipped on her boots and slung her cloak around her shoulders as Sandor opened the door to their shared apartments. 

 

“Willis spotted riders coming in from the North.” He told her. Her husband had his cloak pulled back showing his new armor. The black leather was sturdy but she knew he wore chainmail under it. His beard had filled in in the month that they had been here making his face look longer and older but she liked it deciding it fit him. When he offered to shave it she demanded that he keep it long. 

 

“Good, come here.” He eyed her warily when her lips curved into a smirk, “I won’t bite...unless you ask very nicely.” He returned her smirk and came to her. “You, my love, will look a proper  _ Northern  _ lord.”

 

“Meaning?” He asked as he sat down on their bed. Sansa retrieved a brush from her vanity and a small leather strip. 

 

She came back to him, “Your hair is getting out of your face,” he started to argue with her, “Sandor, this is my only brother left. Please don’t hide behind your hair. I’ve told you again and again that your scars are indefinite proof of your suffering and ability to survive. Something that the North admires, you’ll never find anyone who shies from you here.” She was right of course, no one in the north ever made a passing comment or looked away from him when he was speaking. They only ever spoke to him with respect it was an odd feeling for him, one he still found disconcerting. 

 

“Not all of us are graced with a pretty face little bird.” she ignored his compliment wrapped in a complaint and brushed his hair out of his face. She found how brightly it shone having highlights of blue it was so black. When she had secured it she stepped back to look at her work. His scar reached back to near the middle of his skull.

 

“Perfect.” She kissed him. “If you pull this out I will be very irritated my lord,” he grunted at her.

 

“You owe me wife.” 

 

“I promise I shall deliver.” her smile made his discomfort worth it. It was the first time he had seen it in nearly a month since the news of her brother’s death. He pulled her close to him resting his head on her chest like he had done the first night they were together. 

 

“You’ll deliver now.”

 

“Jon’s almost here,” she protested but a smile played on her lips.

 

“He can wait.” He kissed her, “Besides, I know you're not wearing small clothes.” Sansa blushed, the maid hurriedly made her quiet exit. 

***

Jon rode into the courtyard next to Sam, Ghost following behind quickly. “I never thought I would see Winterfell,” Sam said as they dismounted from the black horses. Sam quickly helped Gilly down with the baby. Jon had the notion that his sister wouldn't turn away the girl or her child and continued to tell Sam through their journey that it was safer for her at Winterfell then it would be at the Wall with Thorne. “Or meet your sister,” Jon smirked at his friend, he never thought he would be back here, never thought he would see the inside of the halls again. 

 

“They are supposed to meet us out here, I wonder what happened?” Ghost huffed as Greywind bolted out from the kennels. The two wolves danced around then chased each other. 

 

“Didn’t think they would get bigger than Ghost,” Sam said in awe of the two giant wolves playing. 

 

Gilly pressed herself closer to Sam, “It’s huge! I’ve never seen a place so large.” She whispered to him. 

 

“Ghost was the runt of the litter.” Both men turned to see Sansa smiling, her hair a little mussed and her dress was wrinkled but a glow about her with her cheeks flushed. Her cloak was askew and she didn’t have gloves on. 

 

“Sansa?” Jon looked her over, Sansa never appeared to guests in anything less than perfect. “Do something with your hair?” 

 

She blushed, “Oh...I didn’t realize.” She attempted to fix her hair then gave up and pulled it down from the simple style it had been in. “Who is your friend?”

 

“My names Sam.” he said blushing slightly, “I’m Jons friend. And this is Gilly and…”

 

“Baby Sam.” She answered holding the child to her chest. 

 

“It is very nice to meet you three.” She said then hugged her brother unable to keep herself from doing so any longer. Jon hugged her back, happy to hold his only living sibling, happy to feel her breath and feel her warmth under her cloak. She felt different from the last time he hugged her, her belly was harder but round at the same time. 

 

“I’m so sorry for the way I treated you, Jon.”

 

“It’s okay…” He said at her unexpected words.

 

“No, it’s not, forgive me.”

 

“Sansa..there is nothing to forgive.”

 

“Forgive me!”

 

“Alright alright, you’re forgiven.” He gently set her down on the ground. 

 

“Do I get one of those too?” Sam asked. When she broke the hug Jon was about to ask her about her belly when a huge man ducked out of the main building. His black hair looked like it had been braided earlier now was in a disarray. He was in the in the act of putting on his cloak as he walked up toward them. John saw the slight flush on his face as he got closer then saw the burning scar that consumed half his face. 

 

“I know you, you’re the Hound,” Jon said when he came up to stand next to his sister. 

 

“The Hound!?” Sam squeaked, “I’ve heard stories about you! Aren’t you King Joffrey’s shield?” 

 

Sandor looked down at Sansa, “And he is?”

 

“He’s Jon’s friend, and that’s Gilly and her baby Sam.”

 

“Until about four months ago,” he answered gruffly answering Sam.

 

“What are you doing all the way up here?” Sam asked the huge man surprising Jon. The man was terrified to hold a sword but he would run blindly into death for the sake of satisfying his curiosity. 

 

Jon looked to Sansa then back at the Hound, then to Sansa. “Didn’t you get a raven at Castle Black?” She asked him.

 

“No.” Sam answered for him, “We don't really get a lot of ravens unless its to tell us of a King's death or to pick up men… or from the Citadel...” 

 

Sansa slid her hand into the Hounds and smiled at her brother, “Sandor is my husband.” 

 

“Your husband?” he repeated his eyes wide. “Thought you were going to marry the golden boy?”

 

Sandor snorted, “ That golden cunt...Come on out of the cold. I’ll tell you the story.” 

 

They followed Sandor back into the main hall where maids were setting out a meal for the Night’s Watchmen. He took his normal chair with Sansa next to him before relaying the story.  Sansa was animatedly talking with Gilly who seemed to have taken a liking to her. 

 

“May I hold him?” She asked Gilly. 

 

“Oh yeah… give my arms a break.” She handed over the boy into Sansa’s arms, he burbled happily while his mother took the time to eat hot food for once. Sador ended the story with their last meeting with Robb. 

 

Sam stared at the giant man, “That’s…. How does a king just order you to marry someone? Now I understand marrying for political reasons.”

 

“You don’t defy Joffrey if you want to live,” Sansa said softly not looking up from baby Sam.

 

Sandor grasped her thigh under the table, “Your sister endured enough under that bastard. Don’t talk about him around her.” He told Jon and Sam.

 

Jon cleared his throat, “Are you happy?” He asked Sansa directly. 

 

“Yes, I am.” She assured him. “Actually, we have some news I didn’t want to put into the letter I sent you.”

 

Jon raised his black brow, “If you tell me Joffrey is coming here on progress.”

 

“What? Oh no, that would be awful.” She took Sandor's hand, “Actually we are expecting.” 

 

Jon was silent and Sam broke out into a smile, “Congratulations!” Jon continued to stare at her his spoon halfway to his mouth. 

 

His smiled crinkled the skin at his eyes, “Congratulations Sansa.”

Later that evening Jon asked Sansa if Gilly could stay on at Winterfell as the wall was no place for a woman especially a wildling woman. 

 

“Of course.” she said immediately, “But won’t she miss Sam?”

 

“She will but she’ll be alive.” He drank deeply from his cup, “That’s more than I can promise her at the Wall.” 

 

“Is something else bothering you?” She asked him. After a long pause in which Sansa actually thought her brother was asleep from the amount of drink he had consumed that evening. 

 

“The Whitewalkers Sansa...they're back.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I know what I saw, I know it’s crazy. But I saw one. Killed one.”

 

“Jon,” She shivered, “This is a conversation for the daylight.” Sandor entered the warm hall holding baby Sam at Sansa’s raised eyebrow he muttered.

 

“She said I needed practice holding a baby.” He did. She adjusted his arms when he sat down in the chair next to her.

 

“Always hold his head up. He can’t do it yet.” 

 

“I’ll break the damn thing.”

 

“Your son will be even smaller when you meet him.” She kissed his forehead and turned to Jon. “I’m tired brother. Maybe Sandor can help you with the whites. I’ll talk to you on the morrow.”  

 

When she left Jon finally seized upon the moment to speak with the man alone, “You don’t waste any time do you Clegane?” he finally said but a huge smile broke out on his face.

 

“I guess not.” He said through his laughter. 

 

Sandor and Jon talked through the night about the plights of the Night's Watch and everything else, by the time he stumbled to bed with Sansa light was starting to come through the windows.

 

Three days later: 

 

Sandor sat in the straight-backed chair his cloak heavy on his shoulders, he shifted uncomfortably in the Lord's chair. He felt Sansa’s hand on his thigh below the table she sat on his left and Jon to his right, Sam standing against the wall with Gilly and her son. Despite all of the fat man's questions, Sandor found himself more than happy to answer or correct what he knew and asked. In Jon, he’d found the closest thing to a friend he ever had, the bastard of Winterfell was the most accepting person he’d ever met. He wanted to lean back and take her hand, let her lead but she had insisted that he sit in the Lord's chair, that he needed to be seen as the Lord of Winterfell now that her brother was gone, they needed to see he was the Warden of the North and it was his job to judge these men in front of him. 

 

Twenty men stood in front of him the table separating him and his prisoners, all of them shackled and cold. Other Northern Lords filled the room, having ridden through the last few nights to reach Winterfell; not only for this trial but to swear their swords and Banners to him and his house.  Sansa had whispered the names of each lord or lady to him as they entered Winterfell’s courtyard, including a very small girl; Lady Mormont, in her he had found a very loud, very opinionated girl. He liked her. However, it had not gone unnoticed that the Boltons had sent no one to represent them. 

 

Earlier that morning Maester Luwin had given him a scroll with the Imp’s insignia and one with the spider's sigil. The first confirmed what he already knew about the Bolton’s, the second was offering him better contact with the Dragon Queen. He’d pocketed the letters wanting to give them to Sansa after he dealt with Theon. 

 

Sandor let the silence stretch out, knowing it could make men talk. It worked on Theon, “Jon.” Theon tried to talk to him. Jon turned his head ignoring him “Sansa...”

 

“You will address  **me** .” Sandor barked the command drawing Theon’s attention. 

 

“You’re not a real Stark.” Theon glared at him, his bruises on his neck had mostly faded but Sandor could still see them, and could still use them as a guide to crushing his windpipe. 

 

“No more than you are a real Ironborn man.”  

 

“Get on with it then pretender.” Theon spat.

 

“You are accused of murder and treason.” Sandor said clearly, “How do you answer these charges?”

 

“I can’t commit treason if Robb isn’t ...wasn’t my King.”

 

“You swore fealty to him.” Lord Karstark said, “I was there when you did it.”

 

Sansa cleared her throat, “You defiled our home Theon. After my father had taken care of you for years as one of his own sons. Fed you, clothed you and taught you alongside with his own sons. You repay this by invading our home after Robb trusted you. You betrayed it. You  _ killed  _ my brothers. That is treason and murder.” 

 

“Sansa I…” He looked ashamed and Sansa narrowed her eyes at the man.

 

“You used the training my father gave you to kill Northmen. To kill my husband's men. You have no claim to the Northlands, what possessed you to think you could take Winterfell. You ...”

 

Theon  interrupted her spitting out, “I am Ironborn, not a fucking Stark.”

 

“Clearly,” Jon muttered.

 

“You think a wolf has more honor than a Kraken?” Theon spat at the base of the table. 

 

“So the Ironborn at best are traitors to the King of the North and South, and at worst simple pillagers who steal from small broken boys and burn them.” Sandor snarled.

 

“No…” He shuffled his feet, subdued again; his own men looked disgusted. “They ran they had to be taught a lesson.”

 

“You cannot teach the dead.” Lady Mormont said from her spot amongst the wall. 

 

Sandor pointed to the girl, “The little lady is right, you’ve not only disgraced my Lady wife’s and Jon’s father but your own. Killing Bran and Rikon, you should have sent them back to islands as wards as your own father did for you.”

 

“The Ironborn have no use for cripples,” Theon muttered petulantly. 

 

Sansa narrowed her blue eyes at him, “The Starks had no reasons for you. Honor bound my father to take you in.”

 

“Fuck the Stark’s honor, your father stripped me of my childhood. My right as an Ironborn man my right to my throne.” 

 

“He gave you one.” Jon raged. “He raised you like one of his own children.”

 

“You killed your own brothers!” Sandor snapped.

 

“They are not dead,” Theon shouted suddenly, silences reigned for many moments as the Lords at the table attempted to comprehend the implications. Sansa was the first to recover.

 

“What?” Sansa demanded, color suddenly draining from her face she heard Jon stand his chair skidding across the stone floor. 

 

“The boys, they were just farm boys. Not Bran and Rikon.” Chaos erupted from the other Northern Lords.  

 

Sansa’s voice as drowned in the sea of male outrage, standing Sandor bellowed, “ **SHUT IT** !” The room fell silent instantly and he spoke again, “ _ If _ that’s even true, you still murdered two innocent children, burned them and hung them from Winterfell’s walls.”

 

“What’s dead never…” He started.

 

“Winter is here, Ironborn. You will regret your loyalties.” Sansa said.

 

She stood up next to her husband her hands resting under her belly as Sandor passed the sentence, “I, Sandor of house Stark, sentence you to die.” he said softly, “For the crime of murder and treason.”

 

“You speak of loyalty to your father.” He spat at Sansa, “Lessons learned by him.” He looked down to her stomach,  “You married a Lannister house lackey, have you forgotten the family that cut off your father’s head.” 

 

“I will always remember.” She turned away from him then, remembering all the cruel things done to her and her family.

 

“I know this is your sentence, Sansa, you can’t even swing the sword that would cut my head off.” 

 

“She didn’t pass the sentence. I did, I will be swinging the sword boy.” Sandor snapped. 

 

“Like I said you’re not a Stark, Dog.” The room was instantly silenced by Theon’s insult to the huge man, Sansa tensed. She understood Theon wanted to be accepted, wanted to be part of her family; he had since he was a boy. His actions to be accepted by his father had alienated his real family in the North.

 

“He’s more Stark than you’ll ever be,” Jon said into the silence.

 

Sandor glared at Theon, “Be glad the importance of the North place on tradition, Traitor. Otherwise, I would have your head here.” He snarled, “The rest of you; my wife has insisted we give you an opportunity.” 

 

Jon spoke, “You can take the black or Lord Stark can take your head. You’ll leave with me on the morrow. If you run I will kill you, if I don't catch you, the Northern lord's will and Lord Stark will take your head.” 

 

The men opted for the black.

 

***

The next morning Sansa hugged her brother. “You didn’t need to send men with me.” he chuckled into her hair. Sam was already sitting astride his black horse digging into a sweet pie that Sansa insisted he takes with him. Gilly had made him promise to write to her. When he pointed out that she couldn't read she said she would learn and that he better write to her. 

 

“Just remember to send them back, I have a bone to pick with the Boltons.” 

 

“Name him after me.” He kissed her forehead and turned to Sandor. “Hopefully he looks like his mother.” He joked with him. 

 

Sandor clapped his hand to Jon’s forearm, “You’re just as much of an asshole as your brother.” Jon laughed as he swung up on his horse. 

 

“Let’s go.” He started out with the guards that Sansa had given him. 

 

***

Later that day Sansa stood in front of Theon the old stone that served her father, it still lay covered in moss. The natural divot in the old stone was still stained with blood from centuries of executions. Two guards held him in place, “Do you remember the last time you were here Greyjoy?” He shook his head, “My father had to execute a man who deserted the night's watch.” 

 

“Sansa..I’m sorry…”

 

“Where are Bran and Rikon?”

 

“I don’t know, they ran. Please.”

 

“If they ran, they could be dead, in which case you are still responsible for their deaths.” 

 

“I didn’t kill them!” 

 

She didn’t respond only nodded her head and the guards forced him down. Sandor waited until she stepped next to him before he turned and swung the sword down severing Theon's head in a smooth motion. 

 

“Send his remains back to the Iron Islands.” Sandor said, “His father will want to bury something.” 


	13. CHAPTER 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note, Sandor's sister's name was changed to the cannon name Eleanor.

Epilogue

 

-Some years later-

 

Sandor hauled the last deer on the makeshift sled, grumbling that he would rather be at home instead of the cold winter weather. Next to him, Graywind was snacking on the last of a small deer he’d caught himself. After Robb’s death, Sandor had spent a lot of time with the animal, consequently, the dam animal almost never left his side even sitting at his feet when he listened to complaints of tenants and farmers. Sandor remembered clearly enough when Roose Bolton had come upon Winterfell with his five thousand men and when Greywind; ever a war-trained animal, had ripped out his messenger's throat.  It had been by far the bloodiest battle Sandor had ever taken part of. If it had not been for Tormund and the wildlings Jon had set free he sure as shit would have died.

 

Of all the shit that had come to pass, the battle with the Boltons, the death of Joffrey and Tommen, nothing scared him more than when his wife was great with child. Not after their first was born, long and arduous labor in which Sandor was helpless as his wife's life blood poured from her. The midwife had attempted then to keep him out of the room just like she attempted with the last, both times he’d been there and now? Now he knew her time was close but she had insisted she was feeling well enough for him to hunt, well enough for him to leave her side. He snorted, as he and the others mounted their horses Sansa was trying to get him to relax, trying to get him out of Winterfell before her labor began again.

 

As he guided Stranger through the thick wolves wood he heard a commotion coming at him, he and his other two men drew their swords. Men loyal to the southern crown had and would continue to come up to the North to kill him it was a simple fact of life he’d come to expect. Taking a defensive position on his horse he saw a man with Stark Direwolf embossed on his armor, “M’lord,” he called, “Your wife…” he didn’t let the man finish instead he kicked Stranger into a full gallop racing back to Winterfell.

 

*****

 

Arya crested the hill on her spotted horse, her weather-worn clothes kept her warm throughout her travels. Hot Pie had told her that her sister was back in Winterfell derailing her plans to go to King’s Landing, family was always more important. She had avenged her family from the Freys bringing their house to nothing and now all she wanted was home. She wanted familiar smells, tastes, and sights; she wanted to sleep in her own bed she even _wanted_ to see Sansa.

 

The dim sun lit the sky, still giving her enough time to reach the gate of Winterfell with ease. Two guards were talking amongst themselves about a redheaded woman in the kitchen.

 

“Where are you going?” The fat guard asked.

 

“In there, I live there.”

 

The fat guard laughed, “Fuck off.”

 

“I’m Arya Stark. This is my home.”

 

Both men burst into laughter then the thin one spoke, “Arya Stark is dead.”

 

She shook her head, “Send for Maester Luwin or Ser Rodrik, they’ll tell me who you who I am.”

 

“There is no Rodrick here.” The thin one laughed.

 

The fat one leaned to his side before announcing, “Maester’s busy.”

 

She raised her eyebrows never having mastered Sansa’s ability to do this she only looked surprised, “Go ask Jon Snow then, the King of the North. He’s my brother.”

 

“He’s a thousand miles away.” the fat one said.

 

The thin one stepped forward, “Look, it’s cold and were busy; so you know- best fuck off.” the fat one agreed.

 

Unperturbed she asked, “If Jon is gone, who is in charge of Winterfell?”

 

The guards rolled their eyes and made exasperated sounds, “The Lady of Winterfell, Lady Stark.” They said very slowly as if she were slow in the head.

 

“Which Lady Stark?”

 

“You tell us, you're the one impersonating her sister.”

 

She relaxed, “Tell Sansa, her sister is home.”

 

“Lady Stark’s to busy to waste her breath on the likes of you; just like us. SO, for the last time. FUCK. OFF.”  He tried to swing at her and she dodged easily.

 

“I’m getting into this castle one way or another. If I am not who I say I am then I won’t last long. But if I am and Sansa finds out you turned me away…” The two guards looked at each other.

 

Arya was led into the courtyard and told to sit on a cart. She was told she would have to wait until Lord Stark came back and the Lady was indisposed. _Who the hell was the Lord of Winterfell?_ She had heard her sister had married but not to whom, if she remembered her lessons then he was from a lower class than her if he bore the Stark name. The two guards turned bickering to themselves for several minutes, throwing her glances over their shoulders; she knew they were discussing how to tell Sansa, she didn't pay them any attention. Instead, her mind and eyes wandered Winterfell’s courtyard. She picked up tidbits that there was going to be a feast tomorrow in honor of the dead Freys and the demise of their house, she heard the Lord was out hunting and something was buzzing around the courtyard but she couldn’t make out what else the excitement was over. Men and women bustled around with daily chores and smiles, she didn’t recognize anyone she realized with a start. Not even Hodor was anywhere to be seen. Suddenly pounding of hooves and yelling interrupted her inner thoughts. The guards ran back to the door as a huge black courser charged in a direwolf behind him, was that Greywind?

“Bloody hell, where is she?” The gruff voice sounded familiar but she couldn't place it. She watched as the tall man dismounted his black cloak billowing behind him.

 

“In your chambers M’lord; it started his morning after you left to hunt and the Maester told her to rest. She said it would be quick like your last.”

 

“As long as it’s not like the first.” He yelled as he ran toward the stairs. The direwolf turned in her direction and sniffed the air, she wondered if he smelled Nymeria. The wolf sat on his haunches and whined up at the stairs.

 

She watched as the man raced up the stairs taking three at a time to where she knew her mother and fathers rooms were. Curious, she followed him as the guards were now detained with four other men and several deer carcasses it was easy enough to slip away and up the stairs petting the wolf as she went. Silently, she slipped through the well-lit halls and encountered a small child. She had gray eyes and shockingly red hair, “Who are you?” She demanded in her small voice. “Why are you here?” Arya was taken aback, no one had spoken to her like that in years.

 

“Where is your Mother?” Arya countered.

 

“With the Maester.” She said. Was this Sansa’s child? She had the Tully red hair. Who was supposed to be watching her?

 

“Who **_are_ **you?” The little girl asked again.

 

“My name is Arya. What is your name?”

 

“Eleanor.” She said proudly smiling, Arya saw she was missing a few of her front teeth. Arya heard a loud scream and looked around then heard yelling, “You can’t be in here my Lord!” a woman yelled, “You plannin’ on throwing me out?” The voice snapped it matched the one she’d heard in the courtyard a few minutes ago. Another grating moan came from the direction of the voices, “Let him in!”

 

“Move woman!” Ayra heard the male voice boom. She still couldn’t place the voice she looked down at the girl but she didn't seem phased. “Mother is having my baby brother.” She said helpfully.

 

“Is she?”

 

“Yeah! Father wants another little girl but **I** told him this one was a boy just like the last.” Another pained moaned sounded.

 

“How many brothers do you have?” She asked another crying scream came followed by the wail of a newborn child.  

 

“Two now. Cool sword!” She pointed toward needle. “Can I see it.”

 

“I think you are a bit young for it, perhaps when you’re older.”

 

“Father says that too.” Eleanor pouted crossing her arms.

 

“What’s your Father’s name?”

 

The girl looked at her as if she had asked the silliest question, “His name.” She declared loudly, “is Father. But other people call him Lord Stark.”

 

“What does your mother call him?”

 

“Her love.” Arya rolled her eyes. Sansa _would_ call her husband her love. Arya decided not to interrupt a bonding moment between new parents and continued her conversation with Eleanor.

 

Her little niece was as fiery as her sister and just as opinionated. Eleanor led her to her room, which happened to be Arya’s old room and pointed everything out to her. All her dresses and toys, even showing her a hand-carved miniature sword. “It’s just like Father’s!” She said and pointed the pointy end toward her.

 

Arya couldn’t help herself, “You know the first rule of sword fighting?”

 

The girl nibbled her lip, this was _definitely_ Sansa’s child she decided, “Stick them with the pointy end?” Arya laughed, the first innocent laugh she had in years. Arya played swords with her niece until she heard the Maester’s chains and the chatter of women walking down the hall she knew she should reveal her presence to her sister. She wondered how Sansa would react to seeing her after all these years, or how she would deal with her new abilities. She was a mother now, married and from the from all the toys scattered around Eleanor’s room the home was a loving one. She picked up a hand-carved direwolf and Eleanor petted it, “Father carved that for me.”

 

“How about we go see your mother and father?” Arya asked.

 

“Old Nan usually tells me when I can go see her.”

 

“Old Nan is still alive?” Arya was surprised.

 

“She’s Mother’s old maid, she is watching my brother now.” She scrunched up her face, “Actually, she’s probably still asleep; that’s why I was able to get away.” she whispered conspiratorially to Arya.

 

“Why don’t we go surprise your Mother?”

 

“Yeah!” She jumped up and grabbed Ayra’s hand, running down the hallways thankfully she was able to keep up with the girl as she knew where they were going, briefly she saw that Bran’s old door was open and felt the heat coming from the room but Eleanor pulled her further along before she could investigate. Letting go of Arya’s hand she ran and flung the door open, “Father!” She bolted into the room disappearing from Arya’s sight.

 

“Hello Elli.” He chuckled. Arya looked through the doorway but could only see his back. His hair was cut at the shoulder and braided at an odd angle; he’d removed his cloak and she saw the broad expanse of his back covered in a green tunic. At least she had married a Northerner, Arya thought.

 

“Elli.” Her sister's voice filled her with joy but sounded exhausted. “Couldn’t wait to meet your new brother?” Her long red hair was down and loose. She could see the newborn at Sansa’s breast she was absently brushing his black hair away from his face. She was comfortably propped up with pillows. “Little Robb was apparently very excited to meet you. Your Father almost didn’t make it in time.” Arya felt a strange feeling in her gut as she watched the babe latched to her sister’s breast, she couldn’t tell if she liked the feeling or not.  

 

“Boy’s already making me jealous.” The man said Sansa blushed and smiled. ‘Gets you all to himself for the next three moons.”

 

“He is _your_ son.” She teased.

 

“Mother, Arya said we should surprise you.” She said.

 

“Arya?” to Arya’s ears her sister actually sounded sad.

 

“Eleanor, what have we told you about Arya?”

 

“But she’s right there!” Eleanor pointed to her and Sansa looked at the doorway.

 

“Arya!” She tried to move.

 

“Sansa!” The deep male voice snapped her sister stilled instantly. “Stay in bed.” He turned. Arya gaped, Sandor Clegane started at her, his black hair swept back and his burn exposed. He held Eleanor close to him from here she could tell the resemblance was striking especially the grey eyes. Arya’s mind refused the concept, there was no way Sansa married the Hound and bore his children. He simply wasn’t pretty or gallant enough for her sister.

 

“Hound?”

 

“Wolf-bitch.” He smiled his gray eyes filling with mirth at her obvious surprise.

 

“You married the fucking Hound Sansa?”  Sansa frowned at her, then motioned for her to come into the room.

 

“Who is that Mother?”

 

“Arya is your aunt.”  Arya stepped into the room softly, knowing the girl’s gray gaze so much like her fathers; watched her every move. “How did you get back to Winterfell?”

 

“It's a long story. But I want to hear how you fell for the Hound first.”

 

“Father, why does she keep calling you The Hound?”

  


~End

**Author's Note:**

> OMG thank you for all your comments and Kudos!!! I love you all. XOXOXOXOX
> 
>  
> 
> Also a quick shoutout to ErinBocca, long may she have the patience to deal with my obsession.


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